356^ 


QUIN 


"If  you  don't  leave  the  room  instantly,   I  will !" 


QUIN 


BY 

ALICE  HEGAN  RICE 

AUTHOR  OF 
MRS.   RIGGS  OF  THE  CABBAGE  PATCH 


FRONTISPIECE  BY 

G.  W.  GAGE 


GROSSET     &     DUNLAP 

P  U  BLISHERS  NEW    YORK 

Made  in  the  United  State*  of  America 


Copyright,  1921,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Cc. 


PBINTED  IN   U.   S.  A. 


TO  MY  MERRIEST  FRIEND 

JOSEPHINE  F.  HAMILL 


2229100 


QUIN 


CHAPTER  i 


IF  the  dollar  Quinby  Graham  tossed  up  on  New 
Year's  eve  had  not  elected  to  slip  through  his 
fingers  and  roll  down  the  sewer  grating,  there  might 
have  been  no  story  to  write.  Quin  had  said,  "Tails, 
yes";  and  who  knows  but  that  down  there  under 
the  pavement  that  coin  of  fate  was  registering 
"Heads,  no"?  It  was  useless  to  suggest  trying  it 
over,  however,  for  neither  of  the  young  privates 
with  town  leave  for  twenty- four  hours  possessed 
another  coin. 

The  heavier  of  the  two  boys,  Cass  Martel, — the 
lame  one,  whose  nose  began  quite  seriously,  as  if  it 
had  every  intention  of  being  a  nose,  then  changed 
abruptly  into  a  button, — scraped  the  snow  from  the 
sewer  grating  with  his  cane,  and  swore  savagely 
under  his  breath.  But  Quin  shrugged  his  shoulders 
with  a  slow,  easy-going  laugh, 

"That  settles  it,"  he  said  triumphantly.  "We  got 
to  go  to  the  Hawaiian  Garden  now,  because  it 's  the 
only  place  that 's  free !" 

3  ' 


4  QUIN 

"I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  know  what  you  want  to  go 
to  a  dance  for,"  argued  his  companion  fiercely. 
"Here  you  been  on  your  back  for  six  months,  and 
your  legs  so  shaky  they  won't  hardly  hold  you. 
Don't  you  know  you  can't  dance?" 

"Sure,"  agreed  Quin  amicably.  "I  don't  mean 
to  dance.  But  I  got  to  go  where  I  can  see  some 
girls.  I  'm  dead  sick  of  men.  Come  on  in.  We 
don't  need  to  stay  but  a  little  while." 

"That 's  too  long  for  me,"  said  Cass.  "If  you 
were  n't  such  a  bonehead  for  doing  what  you  start 
out  to  do,  we  could  do  something  interesting." 

One  might  have  thought  they  were  Siamese 
twins,  from  the  way  in  which  Cass  ignored  the 
possibility  of  each  going  his  own  way.  He  glared 
at  his  tall  companion  with  a  mingled  expression  of 
rage  and  dog-like  devotion. 

"Cut  it  out,  Cass,"  said  Quin  at  last,  putting  an 
end  to  an  argument  that  had  been  in  progress  for 
fifteen  minutes.  "I  'm  going  to  that  dance,  and 
I  'm  going  to  make  love  to  the  first  girl  that  looks 
at  me.  I  '11  meet  you  wherever  you  say  at  six 
o'clock." 

Cass,  seeing  that  further  persuasion  was  useless, 
reluctantly  consented. 

"Well,  you  take  care  of  yourself,  and  don't  forget 
you  are  going  home  with  me  for  the  night,"  he 
warned. 

"Where  else  could  I  go?     Haven't  got  a  red 


QUIN  5 

cent,  and  I  would  n't  go  back  out  to  the  hospital  if 
I  had  to  bunk  on  the  curbstone !  So  long,  cherie!" 

Sergeant  Quinby  Graham,  having  thus  carried 
his  point,  adjusted  his  overseas  cap  at  a  more  acute 
angle,  turned  back  his  coat  to  show  his  distinguished- 
conduct  medal,  and  went  blithely  up  the  steps  to  the 
dance-hall.  He  was  tall  and  outrageously  thin,  and 
pale  with  the  pallor  that  comes  from  long  confine- 
ment. His  hands  and  feet  seemed  too  big  for  the 
rest  of  him,  and  his  blond  hair  stuck  up  in  a  bristly 
mop  above  his  high  forehead.  But  Sergeant  Graham 
walked  with  the  buoyant  tread  of  one  who  has  a 
good  opinion  not  only  of  himself  but  of  mankind  in 
general. 

The  only  thing  that  disturbed  his  mind  was  the 
fact  that,  swagger  as  he  would,  his  shoulders,  usually 
so  square  and  trim,  refused  to  fill  out  his  uniform. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  had  it  on  for  six  months, 
his  wardrobe  having  been  limited  to  pajamas  and 
bath-robes  during  his  convalescence  in  various  hos- 
pitals at  home  and  abroad. 

Two  years  before,  when  he  had  left  a  lumber 
camp  in  Maine  to  answer  America's  first  call  for 
volunteers  to  France,  his  personal  appearance  had 
concerned  him  not  in  the  least.  But  the  army  had 
changed  that,  as  it  had  changed  most  things  for 
Quin. 

He  checked  his  overcoat  at  the  hall  entrance, 
stepped  eagerly  up  to  the  railing  that  divided  the 


6  QUIN 

spectators  from  the  dancers,  and  drew  a  deep  breath 
of  satisfaction.  Here,  at  last,  was  something  dif- 
ferent from  the  everlasting  hospital  barracks :  glow- 
ing lights,  holiday  decorations,  the  scent  of  flowers 
instead  of  the  stale  fumes  of  ether  and  disinfectants; 
soul-stirring  music  in  place  of  the  wheezy  old 
phonograph  grinding  out  the  same  old  tunes;  and, 
above  all,  girls,  hundreds  of  them,  circling  in  a 
bewildering  rainbow  of  loveliness  before  him. 

Was  it  any  wonder  that  Quin's  foot  began  to 
twitch,  and  that,  in  spite  of  repeated  warnings  at  the 
hospital,  a  blind  desire  seized  him  to  dance?  At 
the  mere  thought  his  heart  gained  a  beat — that 
unruly  heart,  which  had  caused  so  much  trouble. 
It  had  never  been  right  since  that  August  day  in 
the  Sevzevais  sector,  when,  to  quote  his  citation, 
he  "had  shown  great  initiative  in  assuming  command 
when  his  officer  was  disabled,  and,  with  total  disre- 
gard for  his  personal  safety,  had  held  his  machine- 
gun  against  almost  impossible  odds."  In  the  ac- 
complishment of  this  feat  he  had  been  so  badly 
gassed  and  wounded  that  his  career  as  a  soldier  was 
definitely,  if  gloriously,  ended. 

The  long  discipline  of  pain  to  which  he  had  been 
subjected  had  not,  however,  conquered  Quin's  buoy- 
ancy. He  was  still  tremendously  vital,  and  when 
he  wanted  anything  he  wanted  it  inordinately  and 
immediately.  Just  now,  when  every  muscle  in  him 
was  keeping  time  to  that  soul-disturbing  music,  he 


QUIN  7 

heard  his  own  imperative  desire  voiced  at  his  elbow : 

"I  don't  want  to  go  home.  I  want  to  dance. 
Nobody  will  notice  us.  Just  one  round,  Captain 
Phipps." 

The  voice  was  young  and  singularly  vibrant,  and 
the  demand  in  it  was  quite  as  insistent  as  the  demand 
that  was  clamoring  in  Quin's  own  khaki-covered 
breast. 

He  craned  his  neck  to  see  the  speaker;  but  she 
was  hidden  by  her  escort,  in  whose  supercilious 
profile  he  recognized  one  of  the  officers  in  charge 
of  his  ward  at  the  hospital. 

"You  foolish  child!"  the  officer  was  saying, 
fingering  his  diminutive  mustache  and  viewing  the 
scene  with  a  somewhat  contemptuous  smile.  "You 
said  if  I  would  bring  you  in  for  a  moment  you 
would  n't  ask  to  stay." 

"I  know,  but  I  always  break  my  promises,"  said 
the  coaxing  voice ;  "and  besides  I  'm  simply  crazy 
to  dance." 

"You  surely  don't  imagine  that  I  would  get  out 
on  the  floor  with  all  this  hoi-poloi?" 

Quin  saw  a  pair  of  small  gloved  hands  grasp  the 
railing  resolutely,  and  he  was  straightway  filled 
with  indignation  that  any  man,  of  whatever  rank, 
should  stand  back  on  his  dignity  when  a  voice  like 
that  asked  a  favor.  A  similar  idea  had  evidently 
occurred  to  the  young  lady,  for  she  said  with  some 
spirit : 


8  QUIN 

"The  only  difference  I  can  see  between  these  boys 
and  you  is  that  they  are  privates  who  got  over,  and 
you  are  an  officer  who  did  n't." 

Quin  could  not  hear  the  answer,  but  as  the  officer 
shifted  his  position  he  caught  his  first  glimpse  of 
the  girl.  She  was  very  young  and  obviously  im- 
perious, with  white  skin  and  coal-black  hair  and 
the  most  utterly  destructive  brown  eyes  he  had  ever 
encountered.  Discretion  should  have  prompted  him 
to  seek  immediate  safety  out  of  the  firing-line,  but 
instead  he  put  himself  in  the  most  exposed  position 
possible  and  waited  results. 

They  arrived  on  schedule  time. 

"Captain  Phipps!"  called  a  page.  "Wanted  on 
the  telephone." 

"Will  you  wait  for  me  here  just  a  second?"  asked 
the  officer. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  will  or  not,"  was  the 
spirited  answer;  "I  may  go  home." 

"Then  I  '11  follow  you,"  said  the  Captain  as  he 
pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd  co  the  telephone- 
booth. 

It  was  just  at  this  moment,  when  the  jazz  band 
was  breaking  into  its  most  beguiling  number,  that 
Quin's  eyes  and  the  girl's  eyes  met  in  a  glance  of 
mutual  desire.  History  repeated  itself.  Once  again, 
"with  total  disregard  for  his  personal  safety, 
Sergeant  Graham  assumed  command  when  his 


QUIN  9 

officer  was  disabled,"  and  rashly  flung  himself  into 
the  breach. 

"Will  you  dance  it  with  me?"  he  asked  eagerly, 
and  he  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  stubbly  hair. 

There  was  an  ominous  pause,  during  which  the 
young  girl  stood  irresolute,  while  Mrs.  Grundy 
evidently  whispered  "Don't"  in  one  ear  and  instinct 
whispered  "Do"  in  the  other.  It  lasted  but  a  second, 
for  the  next  thing  Quin  knew,  a  small  gloved  hand 
was  slipped  into  his,  a  blue  plume  was  tickling  his 
nose,  and  he  was  gliding  a  bit  unsteadily  into  Para- 
dise. 

What  his  heart  might  do  after  that  dance  was  of 
absolutely  no  consequence  to  him.  It  could  beat 
fast  or  slow,  or  even  stop  altogether,  if  it  would 
only  hold  out  as  long  as  the  music  did.  Round  and 
round  among  the  dancers  he  guided  his  dainty  part- 
ner, carefully  avoiding  the  entrance  end  of  the  hall, 
and  devoutly  praying  that  his  clumsy  army  shoes 
might  not  crush  those  little  high-heeled  brown  pumps 
tripping  so  deftly  in  and  out  between  them.  He 
was  not  used  to  dancing  with  officers'  girls,  and  he 
held  the  small  gray-gloved  hand  in  his  big  fist  as 
if  it  were  a  bird  about  to  take  flight. 

Next  to  the  return  of  the  Captain,  he  dreaded  that 
other  dancers,  seeing  his  prize,  would  try  to  capture 
her ;  but  there  was  a  certain  tempered  disdain  in  the 
poise  of  his  little  partner's  head,-  an  ability  to  put 


io  QUIN 

up  a  quick  and  effective  defense  against  intrusion, 
that  protected  him  as  well. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  until  the  music  stopped, 
and  then  they  stood  applauding  vociferously,  with 
the  rest,  for  an  encore. 

"I  ought  to  go,"  said  the  Radiant  Presence,  with 
a  guilty  glance  upward  from  under  long  eyelashes. 
"You  don't  see  a  very  cross-looking  Captain  charg- 
ing around  near  the  door,  do  you  ?" 

"No,"  said  Quin,  without  turning  his  head,  "I 
don't  see  him" — and  he  smiled  as  he  said  it. 
\  Now,  Quin's  smile  was  his  chief  asset  in  the  way 
of  looks.  It  was  a  leisurely  smile,  that  began  far 
below  the  surface  and  sent  preliminary  ripples  up 
to  his  eyes  and  the  corners  of  his  big  mouth,  and 
broke  through  at  last  in  a  radiant  flash  of  good 
humor.  In  this  case  it  met  a  very  prompt  answer 
under  the  big  hat. 

"You  see,  I  'm  not  supposed  to  be  dancing,"  she 
explained  rather  condescendingly. 

"Nor  me,  either,"  said  Quin,  breathing  heavily. 

Then  the  band  decided  to  be  accommodating,  and 
the  saxophone  decided  to  out- jazz  the  piano,  and 
the  drum  got  its  ambition  roused  and  joined  in  the 
competition,  and  the  young  couple  who  were  not 
supposed  to  be  dancing  out-danced  everything  on 
the  floor! 

Quin's  heart  might  have  adjusted  itself  to  that 
first  dance,  but  the  rollicking  encore,  together  with 


QUIN  ii 

the  emotional  shock  it  sustained  every  time  those 
destructive  eyes  were  trained  upon  him,  was  too 
much  for  it. 

"Say,  would  you  mind  stopping  a  bit? — just  for 
a  second?"  he  gasped,  when  his  breath  seemed  about 
to  desert  him  permanently. 

"You  surely  aren't  tired?"  scoffed  the  young 
lady,  lifting  a  pair  of  finely  arched  eyebrows. 

"No ;  but,  you  see — as  a  matter  of  fact,  ever  since 
I  was  gassed " 

"Gassed!" 

The  word  acted  like  a  charm.  The  girl's  sensitive 
face,  over  which  the  expressions  played  like  sunlight 
on  water,  softened  to  instant  sympathy,  and  Quin, 
who  up  to  now  had  been  merely  a  partner,  suddenly 
found  himself  individual. 

"Did  you  see  much  actual  service?"  she  asked,  her 
eyes  wide  with  interest. 

"Sure,"  said  Quin,  bracing  himself  against  a  post 
and  trying  to  keep  his  breath  from  coming  in  jerks  ; 
"saw  sixteen  months  of  it." 

Her  quick  glance  swept  from  the  long  scar  on  his 
forehead  to  the  bar  on  his  breast. 

"What  do  all  those  stars  on  the  rainbow  ribbon 
mean?"  she  demanded. 

"Major  engagements,"  said  Quin  diffidently 

"And  the  silver  one  in  the  middle?" 

"A  citation."  He  glanced  around  to  make  sure 
none  of  the  other  boys  were  near,  then  confessed, 


12  QUIN 

as  if  to  a  crime:    "That 's  where  I  got  my  medal."' 

"Come  over  here  and  sit  down  this  minute,"  she 
commanded.  "You  've  got  to  tell  me  all  about  it." 

It  would  be  very  pleasant  to  chronicle  the  fact 
that  our  hero  modestly  declined  to  take  advantage 
of  the  opportunity  thus  offered.  But  it  must  be 
borne  in  mind  that,  his  heart  having  failed  him  at 
a  critical  hour,  he  had  to  fall  back  upon  his  tongue 
as  the  only  means  at  hand  of  detaining  the  Celestial 
Being  who  at  any  moment  might  depart.  With  what 
breath  he  had  left  he  told  his  story,  and,  having  a 
good  story  to  tell,  he  did  it  full  justice.  Sometimes, 
to  be  sure,  he  got  his  pronouns  mixed,  and  once  he 
lost  the  thread  of  his  discourse  entirely;  but  that 
was  when  he  became  too  conscious  of  those  star-like 
eyes  and  the  flattering  absorption  of  the  little  lady 
who  for  one  transcendent  moment  was  deigning  "to 
love  him  for  the  dangers  he  had  passed."  With 
unabated  interest  and  curiosity  she  drank  in  every 
detail  of  his  recital,  her  half-parted  lips  only  closing 
occasionally  to  say,  "Wonderful!"  or  "How  per- 
fectly wonderful!" 

On  and  on  went  the  music,  round  and  round  went 
the  dancers,  and  still  the  private  in  the  uniform  that 
was  too  big  and  the  officer's  girl  in  blue  and  gray 
sat  in  the  alcove,  totally  oblivious  to  everything  but 
each  other. 

It  was  not  until  the  girl  happened  to  look  at  the 


QUIN  13 

ridiculous  little  watch  that  was  pretending  to  keep 
time  on  her  wrist  that  the  spell  was  broken. 

"Merciful  heaven!"  she  exclaimed  dramatically, 
"It 's  six  o'clock.  What  will  the  family  say  to  me  ? 
I  must  fly  this  minute." 

"But  ain't  you  going  to  finish  this  dance  with 
me?"  asked  Quin  with  tragic  insistence. 

"Ought  you  to  dance  again?"  The  note  was 
personal  and  divinely  solicitous. 

"I  ought  n't,  but  I  am" ;  and,  with  superb  disre- 
gard for  doctors  and  syntax  alike,  Quin  put  a  firm 
arm  around  that  slender  yielding  figure  and  swept 
her  into  the  moving  crowd. 

They  danced  very  quietly  this  time,  for  he  was  de- 
termined to  hold  out  to  the  end.  In  fact,  from  the 
dreamy,  preoccupied  look  on  their  faces  one  might 
have  mistaken  them  for  two  zealous  young  acolytes 
lost  in  the  performance  of  a  religious  rite. 

Quin  was  still  in  a  trance  when  he  helped  her  on 
with  her  coat  and  piloted  her  down  the  crowded 
stairs.  He  could  not  bear  to  have  her  jostled  by 
the  boisterous  crowd,  and  he  glared  at  the  men 
whose  admiring  glances  dared  to  rest  too  long 
upon  her. 

Now  that  the  dance  was  over,  the  young  lady  was 
in  a  fever  of  impatience  to  get  away.  Qualms  of 
remorse  seized  her  for  the  way  she  had  treated  her 
one-time  escort,  and  she  hinted  at  the  trouble  in 
store  for  her  if  the  family  heard  of  her  escapade. 


14  QUIN 

Outside  the  pavements  were  white  with  snow,  and 
falling  flakes  glistened  against  the  blue  electric 
lights.  Holiday  crowds  thronged  the  sidewalks,  and 
every  other  man  was  in  uniform. 

"I  left  my  car  at  the  corner,"  said  Quin's  com- 
panion, nervously  consulting  her  watch  for  the 
fourth  time.  "You  needn't  come  with  me;  I  can 
find  it  all  right." 

But  Quin  had  n't  the  slightest  intention  of  for- 
going one  second  of  that  delectable  interview.  He 
followed  her  to  her  car,  awkwardly  helped  her  in, 
and  stood  looking  at  her  wistfully.  In  her  hurry 
to  get  home  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  him  en- 
tirely. In  two  minutes  she  would  never  know  that 
she  had  met  him,  while  he 

"Good-by,  Soldier  Boy,"  she  said,  suddenly  hold- 
ing out  her  hand. 

"My  name  is  Graham,"  stammered  Quin — "Ser- 
geant Quinby  Graham;  Battery  C,  Sixth  Field  Ar- 
tillery. And  yours?" 

She  was  fussing  with  the  starter  by  this  time,  but 
she  smiled  up  at  him  and  shook  her  head. 

"I  ?  Oh,  I  have  n't  any !  I  'm  just  an  irrespon- 
sible young  person  who  is  going  to  gets  fits  for 
having  stayed  out  so  late.  But  it  was  worth  it, 
wasn't  H — Sergeant  Slim?" 

And  then,  before  he  knew  what  had  happened, 
the  small  runabout  was  skilfully  backed  out  of  its 
narrow  space  and  a  red  tail-light  was  rapidly  wag- 


QUIN  15 

ging  down  the  avenue,  leaving  him  standing  dazed 
on  the  curbstone. 

"Where  in  the  devil  have  you  been?"  demanded  a 
cross  voice  behind  him,  and  turning  he  encountered 
Cass's  snub-nose  and  irate  eyes. 

Quin's  own  eyes  were  shining  and  his  face 
was  flushed.  With  a  laugh  he  flung  his  arm  around 
his  buddy's  shoulder  and  affectionately  punched  his 
head. 

"In  heaven,"  he  answered  laconically. 

"Funny  place  to  leave  your  overcoat!"  said  Cass,. 
viewing  him  with  suspicion.  "Quin  Graham,  have 
you  had  a  drink?" 

Quin  hilariously  declared  his  innocence.  The 
draught  of  which  he  had  so  freely  imbibed,  though 
far  more  potent  than  any  earthly  brew,  was  one 
against  which  there  are  no  prohibitory  laws. 


CHAPTER  2 

THE  fact  that  Cass  had  neglected  to  tell  the 
family  that  he  was  bringing  a  friend  home 
to  supper  did  not  in  the  least  affect  his  welcome.  It 
was  not  that  the  daily  menu  was  of  such  a  lavish 
nature  that  a  guest  or  two  made  no  difference;  it 
was  simply  that  the  Martels  belonged  to  that  casual 
type  which  accepts  any  interruption  to  the  regular 
order  of  things  as  a  God-sent  diversion. 

In  the  present  instance  Rose  had  only  to  dispatch 
Edwin  to  the  grocery  for  eggs  and  cheese,  and  send 
Myrna  next  door  to  borrow  a  chafing-dish,  and, 
while  these  errands  were  being  accomplished,  to 
complete  her  own  sketchy  toilet.  Rose  was  an  im- 
pressionist when  it  came  to  dress.  She  got  the  de- 
sired effect  with  the  least  possible  effort,  as  was 
evinced  now  by  the  way  she  was  whirling  two  coils 
of  chestnut  hair,  from  which  the  tangles  had  not 
been  removed,  into  round  puffs  over  each  ear.  A 
dab  of  rouge  on  each  cheek,  a  touch  of  red  on  the 
lips,  a  dash  of  powder  over  the  whole,  sleeves  turned 
back,  neck  turned  in,  resulted  in  a  poster  effect  that 
was  quite  satisfactory. 

Of  course  the  Martels  had  heard  of  Quinby 
f* 


QUIN  17 

Graham :  his  name  had  loomed  large  in  Cass's  letters 
from  France  and  later  in  his  conversation;  but  this 
was  the  first  time  the  hero  was  to  be  presented  in 
person. 

"What's  he  like,  Rose?"  asked  Myrna,  arriving 
breathlessly  with  the  chafing-dish.  Myrna  was 
twelve  and  seemed  to  labor  under  the  constant 
apprehension  that  she  was  missing  something,  due 
no  doubt  to  the  fact  that  she  was  invariably  dis- 
patched on  an  errand  when  anything  interesting  was 
pending. 

"Don't  know,"  said  Rose;  "the  hall  was  pitch- 
dark.  He  's  got  a  nice  voice,  though,  and  a  dandy 
handshake." 

"I  bid  to  sit  next  to  him  at  supper,"  said  Myrna, 
hugging  herself  in  ecstasy. 

"You  can  if  you  promise  not  to  take  two  helps 
of  the  Welsh  rabbit." 

Myrna  refused  to  negotiate  on  any  such  drastic 
terms.  "Are  we  going  to  have  a  fire  in  the  sitting- 
room?"  she  asked. 

"I  don't  know  whether  there  is  any  more  wood. 
Papa  Claude  promised  to  order  some.  You  go  see 
while  I  set  the  table.  I  've  a  good  notion  to  call 
over  the  fence  and  ask  Fan  Loomis  to  come  to 
supper." 

"Oh,  Rose,  please  do!"  cried  Myrna.  "I  won't 
take  but  one  help." 

Cass,  in  the  meanwhile,  was  making  his  guest  at 


i8  QUIN 

home  in  the  sitting-room  by  permitting  him  to  be 
useful. 

"You  can  light  the  lamp,"  he  said,  "while  I  make 
a  fire." 

Quin  was  willing  to  oblige,  but  the  lamp  was  not. 
It  put  up  a  stubborn  resistance  to  all  efforts  to  coax 
it  to  do  its  duty. 

"I  bet  it  has  n't  been  filled,"  said  Cass ;  then,  after 
the  fashion  of  mankind,  he  lifted  his  voice  in  suppli- 
cation to  the  nearest  feminine  ear : 

"Oh!  Ro— ose!" 

His  older  sister,  coming  to  the  rescue,  agreed  with 
his  diagnosis  of  the  case,  and  with  Quin's  assistance 
bore  the  delinquent  lamp  to  the  kitchen. 

"Hope  you  don't  mind  being  made  home-folks," 
she  said,  patting  the  puffs  over  her  ears  and  looking 
at  him  sideways. 

"Mind?"  said  Quin.  "If  you  knew  how  good 
all  this  looks  to  me !  It 's  the  first  touch  of  home 
I  've  had  in  years.  Wish  you  'd  let  me  set  the  table 
— I  'm  strong  on  K.  P." 

"Help  yourself,"  said  Rose;  "the  plates  are  in 
the  pantry  and  the  silver  in  the  sideboard  drawer. 
Wait  a  minute!" 

She  took  a  long  apron  from  behind  the  door  and 
handed  it  to  him. 

"How  do  these  ends  buckle  up?"  he  asked,  help- 
lessly holding  out  the  straps  of  the  bib. 


QUIN  19 

"They  button  around  your  little  neck,"  she  told 
him,  smiling.  "Turn  round;  I'll  fix  it," 

"Why  turn  round?"  said  Quin. 

Their  eyes  met  in  frank  challenge. 

"You  silly  boy !"  she  said — but  she  put  her  arms 
around  his  neck  and  fastened  the  bib  just  the  same. 

How  that  supper  ever  got  itself  cooked  and 
served  is  a  marvel.  Everybody  took  a  turn  at  the 
stirring  and  toasting,  everybody  contributed  a 
missing  article  to  the  table,  and  there  was  much 
rushing  from  kitchen  to  dining-room,  with  many 
collisions  and  some  upsets. 

Quin  was  in  the  highest  of  spirits.  Even  Cass 
had  never  seen  him  quite  like  this.  With  his  white 
apron  over  his  uniform,  he  pranced  about,  dancing 
attendance  on  Rose,  and  keeping  Myrna  and  Edwin 
in  gales  of  laughter  over  his  antics.  Every  now 
and  then,  however,  his  knees  got  wabbly  and  his 
breath  came  short,  and  by  the  time  supper  was  pre- 
pared he  was  quite  ready  to  sit  down. 

"What  a  shame  Nell 's  not  here !"  said  Rose, 
breaking  the  eggs  into  the  chafing-dish.  "Then  we 
could  have  charades.  She  's  simply  great  when  she 
gets  started." 

"Who  is  Nell?"  asked  Quin. 

"Eleanor  Bartlett,  our  cousin.  She  's  like  chicken 
and  ice-cream — the  rich  Bartletts  have  her  on  week- 
days and  we  poor  Martels  get  her  only  on  Sundays. 
Has  n't  Cass  ever  told  you  about  Nell  ?" 


20  QUIN 

"Do  you  suppose  I  spend  my  time  talking  about 
my  precious  family?"  growled  Cass. 

"No,  but  Nell's  different,"  said  Rose;  "she's  a 
sort  of  Solomon's  baby — I  mean  the  baby  that 
Solomon  had  to  decide  about.  Only  in  this  case 
neither  old  Madam  Bartlett  nor  Papa  Claude  will 
give  up  their  half ;  they  'd  see  her  dead  first." 

"You  did  tell  me  about  her,"  said  Quin  to  Cass, 
"one  night  when  we  were  up  in  the  Cantigny 
offensive.  I  remember  the  place  exactly.  Some- 
thing about  an  orphan,  and  a  lawsuit,  and  a  little 
girl  that  was  going  to  be  an  actress." 

"That 's  the  dope,"  said  Cass.  "Only  she  's  not  a 
kid  any  more.  She  grew  up  while  I  was  in  France. 
She  's  a  great  girl,  Nell  is,  when  you  get  her  away 
from  that  Bartlett  mess !" 

"Does  anybody  know  where  Papa  Claude  is?" 
Rose  demanded,  dexterously  ladling  out  steaming 
Welsh  rabbit  on  to  slices  of  crisp  brown  toast. 

"He  is  here,  mes  enfants,  he  is  here!"  cried  a 
joyous  voice  from  the  hall,  followed  by  a  presence 
at  once  so  exuberant  and  so  impressive  that  Quin 
stared  in  amazement. 

"This  is  Quinby  Graham,  grandfather,"  said 
Cass,  by  way  of  introduction. 

The  dressy  old  gentleman  with  the  flowing  white 
locks  and  the  white  rose  in  his  buttonhole  bore  down 
upon  Quin  and  enveloped  his  hand  in  both  his  own. 

"I  welcome  you  for  Cassius'  sake  and  for  your 


QUIN  21 

own !"  he  declared  with  such  effusion  that  Quin  was 
visibly  embarrassed.  "My  grandson  has  told  me  of 
your  long  siege  in  the  hospital,  of  your  noble  service 
to  your  country,  of  your  gallant  conduct  at " 

"Sit  down,  Papa  Claude,  and  finish  your  oration 
after  supper,"  cried  Rose;  "the  rabbit  won't  wait  on 
anybody." 

Thus  cut  short,  Mr.  Martel  took  his  seat  and, 
nothing  daunted,  helped  himself  bountifully  to 
everything  within  reach. 

"I  am  a  gourmet,  Sergeant  Graham,  but  not  a 
gourmand  Edwin  Booth  used  to  say " 

"Sir?"  answered  Edwin  Booth's  namesake  from 
the  kitchen,  where  he  had  been  dispatched  for  more 
bread. 

"No,  no,  my  son,  I  was  referring  to " 

But  Papa  Claude,  as  usual,  did  not  get  to  finish 
the  sentence.  The  advent  of  the  next-door  neighbor, 
who  had  been  invited  and  then  forgotten,  caused 
great  amusement  owing  to  the  fact  that  there  was 
no  more  supper  left. 

"Give  her  some  bread  and  jam,  Myrna,"  said 
Rose;  "and  if  the  jam  is  out,  bring  the  brown  sugar. 
You  don't  mind,  do  you,  Fan?" 

Fan,  an  amiable  blonde  person  who  was  going  to 
be  fat  at  forty,  declared  that  she  did  n't  want  a  thing 
to  eat,  honestly  she  did  n't,  and  that  besides  she 
adored  bread  and  brown  sugar. 

"We  won't  stop  to  wash  up,"  said  Rose;  "Myrna 


22  QUIN 

will  have  loads  of  time  to  do  it  in  the  morning, 
because  she  does  n't  have  to  go  to  school.  We  '11 
just  clear  the  table  and  let  the  dishes  stand." 

"We  are  incorrigible  Bohemians,  as  you  observe," 
said  Mr.  Martel  to  Quin,  with  a  deprecating  arching 
of  his  fine  brows.  "We  lay  too  little  stress,  I  fear, 
on  the  conventions.  But  the  exigencies  of  the 
dramatic  profession — of  which,  you  doubtless  know, 
I  have  been  a  member  for  the  past  forty  years " 

"Take  him  in  the  sitting-room,  Mr.  Graham," 
urged  Rose;  "I  '11  bring  your  coffee  in  there." 

Without  apparently  being  conscious  of  the  fact, 
Mr.  Martel,  still  discoursing  in  rounded  periods, 
was  transferred  to  the  big  chair  beside  the  lamp, 
while  Quin  took  up  his  stand  on  the  hearth-rug 
and  looked  about  him. 

Such  a  jumble  of  a  room  as  it  was !  Odds  and 
ends  of  furniture,  the  survival  of  various  household 
wrecks;  chipped  bric-a-brac;  a  rug  from  which  the 
pattern  had  long  ago  vanished;  an  old  couch  piled 
with  shabby  cushions;  a  piano  with  scattered  music 
sheets.  On  the  walls,  from  ceiling  to  foot-board, 
hung  faded  photographs  of  actors  and  actresses, 
most  of  them  with  bold  inscriptions  dashed  across 
their  corners  in  which  the  donors  invariably  ex- 
pressed their  friendship,  affection,  or  if  the  chiro- 
graphy  was  feminine  their  devoted  love,  for  "dear 
Claude  Martel."  Over  the  mantel  was  a  portrait 
of  dear  Claude  himself,  taken  in  the  role  of  Mark 


QUIN  23 

Antony,  and  making  rather  a  good  job  of  it,  on  the 
whole,  with  his  fine  Roman  profile  and  massive 
brow. 

It  was  all  shabby  and  dusty  and  untidy;  but  to 
Quinby  Graham,  standing  on  the  hearth-rug  and 
trying  to  handle  his  small  coffee-cup  as  if  he  were 
used  to  it,  the  room  was  completely  satisfying. 
There  was  a  cozy  warmth  and  mellowness  about  it, 
a  kindly  atmosphere  of  fellowship,  a  sense  of  inti- 
mate human  relations,  that  brought  a  lump  into  his 
throat.  He  had  almost  forgotten  that  things  could 
be  like  this! 

So  absorbed  was  he  in  his  surroundings,  and  in 
the  imposing  old  actor  encompassed  by  the  galaxy 
of  pictured  notables,  that  he  lost  the  thread  of  Mr. 
Mattel's  discourse  until  he  heard  him  asking: 

"What  is  the  present?  A  clamor  of  the  senses, 
a  roar  that  deafens  us  to  the  music  of  life.  I  dwell 
in  the  past  and  in  the  future,  Sergeant  Graham — 
the  dear  reminiscent  past  and  the  glorious  unborn 
future.  And  that  reminds  me  that  Cassius  tells  me 
that  you  are  both  about  to  receive  your  discharge 
from  the  army  and  are  ready  for  the  next  great 
adventure.  May  I  ask  what  yours  is  to  be  ?  A  re- 
turn, perhaps,  to  your  native  city?" 

"My  native  city  happens  to  be  a  river,"  said 
Quin.  "I  was  born  on  a  house-boat  going  up  the 
Yangtse-Kiang." 


24  QUIN 

"Indeed !"  cried  Mr.  Martel  with  interest.  "What 
a  romantic  beginning!  And  your  family?" 

"Haven't  got  any.  You  see,  sir,"  said  Quin, 
expanding  under  the  flattering  attention  of  his  host, 
"my  people  were  all  missionaries.  Most  of  them 
died  off  before  I  was  fourteen,  and  I  was  shipped 
back  to  America  to  go  to  school.  I  did  n't  hold  out 
very  long,  though.  After  two  years  in  high  school 
I  ran  away  and  joined  the  navy." 

"And  since  then  you  have  been  a  soldier  of  for- 
tune, eh?  No  cares,  no  responsibilities.  Free  to 
roam  the  wide  world  in  search  of  adventure." 

Quin  studied  the  end  of  his  cigarette. 

"That  ain't  so  good  as  it  sounds,"  he  said.  "Some- 
times I  think  I  'd  amounted  to  more  if  I  had  some- 
body that  belonged  to  me." 

"Is  n't  it  rather  early  in  the  season  for  a  young 
man's  fancy  to  be  lightly  turning " 

The  quotation  was  lost  upon  Quin,  but  the  twinkle 
in  the  speaker's  expressive  eye  was  not. 

"I  didn't  mean  that,"  he  laughingly  protested; 
"I  mean  a  mother  or  a  sister  or  somebody  like  that, 
who  would  be  a  kind  of  anchor.  Take  Cass,  for 
instance ;  he  's  steady  as  a  rock." 

"Ah!  Cassius!  One  in  ten  thousand.  From  the 
time  he  was  twelve  he  has  shared  with  me  the  finan- 
cial burden.  An  artist,  Sergeant  Graham,  must 
remain  aloof  from  the  market-place.  Now  that  I 
have  retired  permanently  from  the  stage  in  order 


QUIN  25 

to  devote  my  time  exclusively  to  writing,  my  only 
business  engagement  is  a  series  of  lectures  at  the 
university,  where,  as  you  know,  I  occupy  the  chair 
of  Dramatic  Literature." 

The  chair  thus  euphemistically  referred  to  was 
scarcely  more  than  a  three-legged  stool,  which  he 
occupied  four  mornings  in  the  week,  the  rest  of  his 
time  being  spent  at  home  in  the  arduous  task  of 
writing  tragedies  in  blank  verse. 

"What  I  got  to  think  about  is  a  job,"  said  Quin, 
much  more  interested  in  his  own  affairs  than  in 
those  of  his  host. 

"Commercial  or  professional?"  inquired  Mr. 
Martel. 

"Oh,  I  can  turn  my  hand  to  'most  anything," 
bragged  Quin,  blowing  smoke-rings  at  the  ceiling. 
"It 's  experience  that  counts,  and,  believe  me,  I  've 
had  a  plenty." 

"Experience  plus  education,"  added  Mr.  Martel; 
"we  must  not  underestimate  the  advantages  of  edu- 
cation." 

"That 's  where  I  'm  short,"  admitted  Quin.  "My 
folks  were  all  smart  enough.  Guess  if  they  iiad 
lived  I  'd  been  put  through  college  and  all  the  rest 
of  it.  My  grandfather  was  Dr.  Ezra  Quinby.  Ever 
hear  of  him?" 

Mr.  Martel  had  to  acknowledge  that  he  had  not. 

"Guess  he  is  better  known  in   China  than   in 


26  QUIN 

America,"  said  Quin.    "He  died  before  I  was  born." 

"And  you  have  no  people  in  America  ?" 

"No  people  anywhere,"  said  Quin  cheerfully; 
"but  I  got  a  lot  of  friends  scattered  around  over  the 
world,  and  a  bull-dog  and  a  couple  of  cats  up  at  a 
lumber-camp  near  Portland." 

"Cassius  tells  me  that  you  are  thinking  of  return- 
ing to  Maine." 

Quin  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair  and  laughed. 
"That  was  yesterday,"  he  said.  "To-day  you 
couldn't  get  me  out  of  Kentucky  with  a  machine- 
gun!" 

Claude  Martel  rose  and  laid  an  affectionate  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  "Then,  my  boy,  we  claim  you  as 
our  own.  Cassius'  home  is  your  home,  his  family 
your  family,  his " 

The  address  of  welcome  was  cut  short  by  Cass's 
arrival  with  an  armful  of  wood  which  he  deposited 
on  the  hearth,  and  a  moment  later  the  girls,  followed 
by  Edwin,  came  trooping  in  from  the  kitchen. 

"Let 's  make  a  circle  round  the  fire  and  sing  the 
old  year  out,"  suggested  Rose  gaily.  "Myrna,  get 
the  banjo  and  the  guitar.  Shall  I  play  on  the  piano, 
Papa  Cla  ie,  or  will  you?" 

Mr.  Murtel,  expressing  the  noble  sentiment  that 
age  should  always  be  an  accompaniment  to  youth, 
took  his  place  at  the  piano  and,  with  a  pose  worthy 
of  Rubinstein,  struck  a  few  preliminary  chords, 


QUIN  27 

while  the  group  about  the  fire  noisily  settled  itself 
for  the  evening. 

"You  can  put  your  head  against  my  knees,  if  you 
like,"  Rose  said  to  Quin,  who  was  sprawling  on  the 
floor  at  her  feet.  "There,  is  that  comfy?" 

"I  '11  say  it 's  all  right !"  said  Quin  with  heartfelt 
satisfaction. 

There  was  something  free  and  easy  and  gipsy-like 
about  the  evening,  a  sort  of  fireside  picnic  that 
brought  June  dreams  in  January.  As  the  hours 
wore  on,  the  singing,  which  had  been  noisy  and 
rollicking,  gradually  mellowed  into  sentiment,  a 
sentiment  that  found  vent  in  dreamy  eyes  and  long- 
drawn-out  choruses,  with  a  languorous  over-ac- 
centuation of  the  sentimental  passages.  One  by 
one,  the  singers  fell  under  the  spell  of  the  music  and 
the  firelight.  Cass  and  Fan  Loomis  sat  shoulder 
to  shoulder  on  the  broken-springed  couch  and  gazed 
with  blissful  oblivion  into  the  red  embers  on  the 
hearth.  Rose,  whose  voice  led  all  the  rest,  sur- 
reptitiously wiped  her  eyes  when  no  one  was  look- 
ing; Edwin  and  Myrna,  solemnly  plucking  their 
banjo  and  guitar,  were  lost  in  moods  of  dormant 
emotion ;  while  Papa  Claude  at  the  piano  let  his  dim 
eyes  range  the  pictured  walls,  while  his  memory 
traveled  back  through  the  years  on  many  a  secret 
tryst  of  its  own. 

But  it  was  the  lank  Sergeant  with  the  big  feet, 
and  the  hair  that  stood  up  where  it  should  n't,  who 


28  QUIN 

dared  to  dream  the  most  preposterous  dream  of 
them  all.  For,  as  he  sang  there  in  the  firelight,  a 
little  god  was  busy  lighting  the  tapers  in  the  most 
sacred  shrines  of  his  being,  until  he  felt  like  a  cathe- 
dral at  high  mass  with  all  the  chimes  going. 

"There  's  a  long,  long  trail  a-winding 

Into  the  land  of  my  dreams, 
Where  the  nightingales  are  singing 
And  a  white  moon  beams." 

How  many  times  he  had  sung  it  in  France ! — jolting 
along  muddy,  endless  roads,  heartsick,  homesick. 

"There 's  a  long,  long  night  of  waiting 

Until  my  dreams  all  come  true, 
Till  the  day  when  I  '11  be  going 

Down  that  long,  long  trail  with  you." 

What  had  "you"  meant  to  him  then?  A  girl — a 
pretty  girl,  of  course;  but  any  girl.  And  now? 

Ah,  now  he  knew  what  he  had  been  going  toward, 
not  only  on  those  terrible  roads  in  France,  but  all 
through  the  years  of  his  life.  An  exquisite,  im- 
perious little  officer's  girl  with  divinely  compassion- 
ate eyes,  who  was  n't  ashamed  to  dance  with  a 
private,  and  who  had  let  him  hold  her  hand  at  part- 
ing while  she  said  in  accents  an  angel  might  have 
envied,  "Good-by,  Soldier  Boy." 

Quin  sighed  profoundly  and  slipped  his  arm 
under  his  head,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  owner 
of  the  knee  upon  which  he  was  leaning  also  heaved 
a  sigh  and  shifted  her  position,  and  somehow  in  the 


QUIN  29 

adjustment  two  lonely  hands  came  in  contact  and 
evidently  decided  that,  after  all,  substitutes  were 
some  comfort. 

It  was  not  until  all  the  whistles  in  town  had  an- 
nounced the  birth  of  the  New  Year  that  the  party 
broke  up,  and  it  was  not  until  then  that  Quin  realized 
that  he  was  very  tired,  and  that  his  pulse  was  behav- 
ing in  a  way  that  was,  alas,  all  too  familiar. 


CHAPTER  3 

FRIDAY  after  New  Year's  found  Sergeant 
Graham  again  flat  on  his  back  at  the  Base 
Hospital,  facing  sentence  of  three  additional  weeks 
in  bed.  In  vain  had  he  risked  a  reprimand  by  hotly 
protesting  the  point  with  the  Captain;  in  vain  had 
he  declared  to  the  nurse  that  he  would  rather  live 
on  his  feet  than  die  on  his  back.  Judgment  was 
passed,  and  he  lay  with  an  ice-bag  on  his  head  and 
a  thermometer  in  his  mouth  and  hot  rage  in  his 
heart. 

What  made  matters  worse  was  that  Cass  Martel 
had  come  over  from  the  Convalescent  Barracks  only 
that  morning  to  announce  that  he  had  received  his 
discharge  and  was  going  home.  To  Quin  it  seemed 
that  everybody  but  himself  was  going  home — that 
is,  everybody  but  the  incurables.  At  that  thought 
a  dozen  nameless  fears  that  had  been  tormenting  him 
of  late  all  seemed  to  get  together  and  rush  upon 
him.  What  if  the  doctors  were  holding  him  on 
from  month  to  month,  experimenting,  promising, 
disappointing,  only  in  the  end  to  bunch  him  with  the 
permanently  disabled  and  ship  him  off  to  some  God- 
so 


QUIN  31 

forsaken  spot  to  spend  the  rest  of  his  life  in  a  hos- 
pital ? 

He  gripped  his  hands  over  his  chest  and  gave 
himself  up  to  savage  rebellion.  If  they  would  let 
him  alone  he  might  get  well !  In  France  it  had  been 
his  head.  Whenever  the  wound  began  to  heal  and 
things  looked  a  bit  cheerful,  some  saw-bones  had 
come  along  and  thumped  and  probed  and  X-rayed, 
and  then  it  had  been  ether  and  an  operation  and  the 
whole  blooming  thing  over  again.  Then,  when  they 
could  n't  work  on  his  head  any  longer,  they  'd 
started  up  this  talk  about  his  heart.  Of  course  his 
heart  was  jumpy!  All  the  fellows  who  had  been 
badly  gassed  had  jumpy  hearts.  But  how  was  he 
ever  going  to  get  any  better  lying  there  on  his  back? 
What  he  needed  was  exercise  and  decent  food  and 
something  cheerful  to  think  about.  He  wanted  des- 
perately to  get  away  from  his  memories,  to  forget 
the  horrors,  the  sickening  sights  and  smells, 
the  turmoil  and  confusion  of  the  past  two  years.  In 
spite  of  his  most  heroic  efforts,  he  kept  living  over 
past  events.  This  time  last  year  he  had  been  up  in 
the  Toul  sector,  where  half  the  men  he  knew  had 
gone  west.  It  was  up  there  old  Corpy  had  got  his 
head  shot  off  .  .  . 

He  resolutely  fixed  his  attention  on  a  spider  that 
was  swinging  directly  over  his  head  and  tried  to 
forget  old  Corpy.  He  thought  instead  of  Captain 
Phipps,  but  the  thought  did  not  calm  him.  What 


32  QUIN 

sense  was  there  in  his  ordering  more  of  this  fool  rest 
business?  Well,  he  told  himself  fiercely,  he  was  n't 
going  to  stand  for  it !  The  war  was  over,  he  had 
done  his  part,  he  was  going  to  demand  his  freedom. 
Discipline  or  no  discipline,  he  would  go  over  Phipps' 
head  and  appeal  to  the  Colonel. 

Throwing  aside  the  ice-bag,  he  looked  around  for 
his  uniform.  But  the  nurse  had  evidently  mis- 
trusted the  look  in  his  eyes  when  she  gave  him  the 
Captain's  orders,  for  the  hook  over  his  bed  was 
empty.  He  raised  himself  in  his  cot  and  glared 
savagely  down  the  ward,  sniffing  the  air  suspiciously. 
Two  orderlies  were  wheeling  No.  17  back  from  the 
operating-room,  and  Quin  already  caught  the  faint 
odor  of  ether.  The  first  whiff  of  it  filled  him  with 
loathing. 

Thrusting  his  bare  feet  into  slippers  and  his  arms 
into  a  shabby  old  bath-robe,  he  flung  himself  out  of 
bed  and  slipped  out  on  the  porch.  The  air  was  cold 
and  bracing  and  gloriously  free  from  the  hospital 
combination  of  wienerwurst,  ether,  and  dried 
peaches  that  had  come  to  be  a  nightmare  odor  to  him. 
He  sat  on  the  railing  and  drew  in  deep,  refreshing 
breaths,  and  as  he  did  so  things  began  to  right 
themselves.  Fair  play  to  Quin  amounted  almost  to 
a  religion,  and  it  was  suddenly  borne  in  upon  him 
that  he  would  not  be  where  he  was  had  he  observed 
the  rules  of  the  game.  But  then  again,  if  he  had 
not  danced,  he  never  would  have 


QUIN  33 

At  that  moment  something  so  strange  happened 
that  he  put  a  hot  hand  to  a  hotter  brow  and  won- 
dered if  he  was  delirious.  The  singularly  vibrant 
voice  that  had  been  echoing  in  his  memory  since  New 
Year's  eve  was  saying  directly  behind  him : 

"I  shall  give  them  all  the  chocolate  they  want, 
Captain  Harold  Phipps,  and  you  may  court-martial 
me  later  if  you  like!" 

Quin  glanced  up  hastily,  and  there,  framed  in 
the  doorway,  in  a  Red  Cross  uniform,  stood  his 
dream  girl,  looking  so  much  more  ravishing  than 
she  had  before  that  he  promptly  snatched  the  blue 
and  gray  vision  from  its  place  of  honor  and  in- 
stalled a  red,  white,  and  blue  one  instead.  So  en- 
grossed was  he  in  the  apparition  that  he  quite  failed 
to  see  Captain  Phipps  surveying  him  over  her 
shoulder. 

"Number  7 !"  said  the  Captain  with  icy  decision, 
"weren't  you  instructed  to  stay  in  bed?" 

"I  was,  sir,"  said  Quin,  coming  to  attention  and 
presenting  a  decidedly  sorry  aspect. 

"Go  back  at  once,  and  add  three  days  to  the  time 
indicated.  This  way,  Miss  Bartlett." 

Now,  it  is  well-nigh  impossible  to  preserve  one's 
dignity  when  suffering  a  reprimand  in  public;  but 
when  you  are  handicapped  by  a  shabby  bath-robe, 
a  three  days'  growth  of  beard,  and  a  grouch  that 
gives  you  the  expression  of  a  bandit,  and  the  public 
happens  to  be  the  one  being  on  earth  whom  you 


34  QUIN 

are  most  anxious  to  please,  the  situation  becomes 
tragic. 

Quin  set  his  jaw  and  shuffled  ignominiously  off 
to  bed,  thankful  for  once  that  he  had  been  considered 
unworthy  a  second  glance  from  those  luminous 
brown  eyes.  His  satisfaction,  however,  was  short- 
lived. A  moment  later  the  young  lady  appeared  at 
the  far  end  of  the  ward,  carrying  an  absurd  little 
basket  adorned  with  a  large  pink  bow,  from  which 
she  began  to  distribute  chocolates. 

A  feminine  presence  in  the  ward  always  created 
a  flutter,  but  the  previous  flutters  were  mere  zephyrs 
compassed  to  the  cyclone  produced  by  the  new  ward 
visitor.  Some  one  started  the  phonograph,  and 
Michaelis,  who  had  been  swearing  all  day  that  he 
would  never  be  able  to  walk  again,  actually  began 
to  dance.  Witticisms  were  exchanged  from  bed  to 
bed,  and  the  man  who  was  going  to  be  operated  on 
next  morning  flung  a  pillow  at  an  orderly  and  upset 
a  vase  of  flowers.  Things  had  not  been  so  cheerful 
for  weeks. 

Quin,  lying  in  the  last  bed  in  the  ward,  alternated 
between  rapture  and  despair  as  he  watched  the 
progress  of  the  visitor.  Would  she  recognize  him? 
Would  she  speak  to  him  if  she  did,  when  he  looked 
like  that?  Perhaps  if  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall 
and  pretended  to  be  asleep  she  would  pass  him  by. 
But  he  did  not  want  her  to  pass  him  by.  This  might 


QUIN  35 

be  the  only  chance  he  would  ever  have  to  see  her 
again ! 

Back  in  his  fringe  of  consciousness  he  was  fran- 
tically groping  for  the  name  the  Captain  had  men- 
tioned :  Barnet  ?  Barret  ?  Bartlett  ?  That  was  it ! 
And  with  the  recovery  of  the  name  Quin's  mind  did 
another  somersault.  Bartlett?  Where  had  he  heard 
that  name?  Eleanor  Bartlett?  Some  nonsense 
about  "Solomon's  baby."  Why,  Rose  Martel,  of 
course. 

Then  all  thought  deserted  him,  for  the  world  sud- 
denly shrank  to  five  feet  two  of  femininity,  and  he 
heard  a  gay,  impersonal  voice  saying: 

"May  I  put  a  cake  of  chocolate  on  your  table?" 

For  the  life  of  him,  he  could  not  answer.  He 
only  lay  there  with  his  mouth  open,  looking  at  her, 
while  she  straightened  the  contents  of  her  basket. 
One  more  moment  and  she  would  be  gone.  Quin 
staked  all  on  a  chance  shot. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Eleanor  Bartlett,"  he  said, 
with  that  ridiculous  blush  that  was  so  out  of  keeping 
with  his  audacity. 

She  looked  at  him  in  amazement;  then  her  face 
broke  into  a  smile  of  recognition. 

"Well,  bless  my  soul,  if  it  isn't  Sergeant  Slim! 
jWhat  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Same  thing  I  been  doing  for  six  months,"  said 
Quin  sheepishly;  "counting  the  planks  in  the  ceil- 
ing." 


36  QUIN 

"But  I  thought  you  had  got  well.  Oh,  I  hope  it 
was  n't  the  dancing " 

"Lord,  no,"  said  Quin,  keeping  his  hand  over  his 
bristly  chin.  "I  'm  husky,  all  right.  Only  they  've 
got  so  used  to  seeing  me  laying  around  that  they 
can't  bear  to  let  me  go." 

"Do  you  have  to  lie  flat  on  your  back  like  that, 
with  no  pillow  or  anything?" 

"It  ain't  so  bad,  except  at  mess-time." 

"And  you  can't  even  sit  up  to  eat?" 

"Not  supposed  to." 

Miss  Bartlett  eyed  him  compassionately. 

"I  am  coming  out  twice  a  week  now — Mondays 
and  Fridays — and  I  'm  going  to  bring  you  some- 
thing nice  every  time  I  come.  How  long  will  you 
be  here?" 

"Three  weeks,"  said  Quin — adding,  with  a  funny 
twist  of  his  lip,  "three  weeks  and  three  days." 

"Oh!  Were  you  the  boy  on  the  porch?  How 
funny  I  did  n't  recognize  you !  I  'm  going  to  ask 
Captain  Phipps  to  let  you  off  those  extra  days." 

"No,  you  mustn't,"  Quin  objected  earnestly; 
"I  '11  take  what 's  coming  to  me.  Besides,"  he 
added,  "one  of  those  days  might  be  a  Monday  or  a 
Friday!" 

This  seemed  to  amuse  her,  for  she  smiled  as  she 
wrote  his  name  and  bed  number  in  a  small  note- 
book, with  the  added  entry:  "Oyster  soup,  cigar- 
ettes, and  a  razor." 


QUIN  37 

Just  as  she  was  leaving,  she  remembered  some- 
thing and  turned  back. 

"How  did  you  know  my  name?"  she  asked  with 
lively  curiosity. 

"Did  n't  the  Captain  call  it  on  the  porch?" 

"Did  he  ?  But  not  my  first  name.  How  on  earth 
did  you  know  that?" 

"Perhaps  I  guessed  it,"  Quin  said,  looking 
mysterious.  And  just  then  a  nurse  came  along  and 
thrust  the  thermometer  back  in  his  mouth,  and 
the  conversation  was  abruptly  ended. 

Of  course  the  calendar  must  have  been  right  about 
the  three  weeks  that  followed;  there  probably  were 
seven  days  in  each  week  and  twenty- four  hours  in 
each  day.  But  Quin  was  n't  sure  about  it.  He 
knew  beyond  doubt  that  there  were  three  Mondays 
and  four  Fridays  and  one  wholly  gratuitous  and 
never-to-be-forgotten  Sunday  when  Miss  Bartlett 
brought  his  dinner  from  town,  and  insisted  upon 
cutting  his  chicken  for  him  and  feeding  him  custard 
with  a  spoon.  The  rest  of  the  days  were  lost  in 
abstract  time,  during  which  Quin  had  his  hair  cut 
and  his  face  shaved,  and  did  bead-work. 

Until  now  he  had  sturdily  refused  to  be  inveigled 
into  occupational  therapy.  Those  guys  that  were 
done  for  could  learn  to  knit,  he  said,  and  to  make 
silly  little  mats,  and  weave  things  on  a  loom.  If  he 
could  n't  do  a  man's  work  he  'd  be  darned  if  he  was 
going  to  do  a  woman's.  But  now  all  was  changed. 


38  QUIN 

He  announced  his  intention  of  making  the  classiest 
bead  chain  that  had  ever  been  achieved  in  2  C.  He 
insisted  upon  the  instructor  getting  him  the  most 
expensive  beads  in  the  market,  regardless  of  size  or 
color. 

Now,  for  Ouin,  with  his  big  hands  and  lack  of 
dexterity,  to  have  worked  with  beads  under  the 
most  favorable  conditions  would  have  been  difficult, 
but  to  master  the  art  lying  flat  on  his  back  was  a 
tour  de  force.  He  pricked  his  fingers  and  broke 
his  thread;  he  upset  the  beads  on  the  floor,  on  the 
bed,  in  his  tray ;  he  took  out  and  put  in  with  infinite 
patience,  "each  bead  a  thought,  each  thought  a 
prayer." 

"Don't  you  think  you  had  better  give  it  up?" 
asked  the  instructor,  in  despair,  after  the  fourth 
lesson. 

"You  don't  know  me,"  said  Quin,  setting  his  jaw. 
"You  been  trying  to  get  me  into  this  for  two  weeks 
— now  you  've  got  to  see  me  through." 

It  did  not  take  long  for  the  other  patients  to  dis- 
cover Quin's  state  of  mind 

"How  about  your  heart  disease,  Graham?"  they 
inquired  daily;  "think  it 's  going  to  be  chronic?" 

But  Quin  had  little  time  for  them.  The  distinc- 
tion he  had  enjoyed  as  the  champion  poker-player  in 
2  C.  began  to  wane  as  his  popularity  with  the  new 
ward  visitor  increased. 


QUIN  39 

"I  like  your  nerve ! — keeping  her  up  there  at  your 
bed  all  the  time,"  complained  Michaelis. 

"She  's  an  old  friend  of  mine,"  Quin  threw  off 
nonchalantly. 

"Aw,  what  you  try  in'  to  put  orer  on  us?"  scoffed 
Mike.  "Where  'd  you  ever  git  to  know  a  girl  like 
that?" 

"Well,  I  know  her  all  right,"  said  Quin. 

The  little  mystery  about  Miss  Bartlett's  first  name 
had  been  a  fruitful  topic  of  conversation  between 
a  couple  whose  topics  were  necessarily  limited.  She 
had  teased  Quin  to  tell  her  how  he  knew,  and  also 
how  he  knew  she  wanted  to  go  on  the  stage;  and 
Quin  had  teased  back;  and  at  last  it  had  resolved 
itself  into  a  pretty  contest  of  wits. 

This  served  to  keep  her  beside  him  often  as  long 
as  four  minutes.  Then  he  would  gain  an  additional 
two  minutes  by  showing  her  what  progress  he  had 
made  with  his  chain,  and  consulting  her  preference 
for  an  American  flag  or  a  Red  Cross  worked  in 
the  medallion. 

When  every  other  means  of  detaining  her  had 
been  exhausted,  he  sometimes  resorted  to  strategy. 
Constitutionally  he  was  opposed  to  duplicity;  he 
was  built  on  certain  square  lines  that  disqualified 
him  for  many  a  comfortable  round  hole  in  life.  But 
under  the  stress  of  present  circumstances  he  per- 
suaded himself  that  the  end  justified  the  means. 
Ignoring  the  fact  that  he  was  as  deyoid  of  relations 


40  QUIN 

as  a  tree  is  of  leaves  in  December,  he  developed  a 
sudden  sense  of  obligation  to  an  imaginary  cousin 
whom  he  added,  without  legal  authority,  to  the 
population  of  Peru,  Indiana.  By  means  of  Miss 
Bartlett's  white  hand  he  frequently  informed  her 
that  she  was  not  to  worry  about  him,  because  he 
was  "doing  splendid,"  and  that  a  hospital  "was  n't 
so  worse  when  you  get  used  to  it."  And  while  he 
dictated  words  of  assurance  to  his  "Cousin  Sue" 
his  eyes  feasted  upon  a  dainty  profile  with  long 
brown  lashes  that  swept  a  peach-blow  cheek.  Once 
he  became  so  demoralized  by  this  too  pleasing  pros- 
pect that  he  said  "tell  him"  instead  of  "tell  her," 
and  the  lashes  lifted  in  instant  inquiry. 

"I  mean — er — her  husband,"  Quin  gasped. 

"But  you  had  me  direct  the  other  letters  to  Miss 
Sue  Brown." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Quin,  with  an  embarrassment 
that  might  have  been  attributed  to  skeletons  in 
family  closets;  "but,  you  see — she — er — she  took 
back  her  own  name." 

The  one  cloud  that  darkened  Quin's  horizon  these 
days  was  Captain  Phipps.  His  visits  to  the  ward 
always  coincided  with  Miss  Bartlett's,  and  he  seemed 
to  take  a  spiteful  pleasure  in  keeping  the  men  at 
attention  while  he  engaged  her  in  intimate  conversa- 
tion. He  was  an  extremely  fastidious,  well  groomed 
young  man,  with  an  insolent  hauteur  and  a  certain 
lordly  air  of  possession  that  proclaimed  him  a  con- 


QUIN  41 

queror  of  the  sex.  Quin  regarded  him  with  growing 
disfavor. 

When  the  three  weeks  were  almost  over,  Quin 
was  allowed  to  sit  up,  and  even  to  walk  on  the  porch. 
Miss  Bartlett  found  him  there  one  day  when  she 
arrived. 

"Aha!"  she  cried,  "I  've  found  you  out,  Sergeant 
Slim !  You  are  Cass  Martel's  hero,  and  that's  where 
you  heard  about  me  and  found  out  my  first  name." 

Quin  pleaded  guilty,  and  their  usual  five  minutes 
together  lengthened  into  fifteen  while  she  gave  him 
all  the  news  of  the  Martel  family.  Cass  had  taken 
his  old  position  at  the  railroad  office,  and,  dear 
knows,  it  was  a  good  thing!  And  Rose  was  giving 
dancing  lessons.  And  what  did  he  think  little  old 
Myrna  had  done?  Adopted  a  baby!  Yes,  a  baby; 
was  n't  it  too  ridiculous !  An  Italian  one  that  the 
washwoman  had  forsaken.  And  Papa  Claude  had 
given  up  his  lectures  at  the  university  in  order  to 
write  the  great  American  play.  Were  n't  they  the 
funniest  and  the  dearest  people  he  had  ever  known? 

It  was  amazing  how  intimate  Quin  and  Miss 
Bartlett  got  on  the  subject  of  the  Martels.  He  had 
to  tell  her  in  detail  just  what  a  brick  her  cousin 
Cass  was,  and  she  had  to  tell  him  what  a  really  won- 
derful actor  Papa  Claude  used  to  be. 

"Captain  Phipps  says  he  knows  more  about  the 
stage  than  any  man  in  the  country." 


42  QUIN 

"What  does  the  Captain  know  about  it?"  asked 
Quin. 

"Captain  Phipps?  Why,  he  's  a  playwright.  He 
means  to  devote  all  his  time  to  the  stage  as  soon  as 
he  gets  out  of  the  army.  You  may  not  believe  it, 
but  he  is  an  even  better  dramatist  than  he  is  a 
doctor." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  said  Quin;  "that's  easy  to 
believe." 

The  sarcasm  was  lost  upon  Miss  Bartlett,  who 
was  intent  upon  delivering  her  message  from  the 
Martels.  They  had  sent  word  that  they  expected 
Quin  to  come  straight  to  them  when  he  got  his 
discharge,  and  that  his  room  was  waiting  for  him. 

"And  you?"  asked  Quin  eagerly.  "You'll  be 
there  every  Sunday?" 

Her  face,  which  had  been  all  smiles,  underwent  a 
sudden  change.  She  said  with  something  perilously 
like  a  pout: 

"No,  I  sha  n't ;  I  'm  to  be  shipped  off  to  school 
next  week." 

"School?"  repeated  Quin  incredulously.  "What 
do  you  want  to  be  going  back  to  school  for?" 

"I  don't  want  to.  I  hate  it.  It 's  the  price  I  am 
paying  for  that  dance  I  had  with  you  at  the 
Hawaiian  Garden — that  and  other  things." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Some  old  tabby  of  a  chaperon  saw  me  there  and 
came  and  told  my  grandmother." 


QUIN  43 

"But  what  could ^she  have  told  ?  You  did  n't  do 
anything  you  ought  n'^:  to." 

Miss  Bartlett  shook  her  head.  It  was  evidently 
something  she  could  not  explain,  for  she  sat  staring 
gloomily  at  the  wall  above  the  bed,  then  she  said 
abruptly:  "Well,  I  must  be  going.  Good-by  if  I 
don't  see  you  again !" 

"But  you  will,"  announced  Quin  fiercely.  "You 
are  going  to  see  me  next  Sunday  at  the  Martels'. 
I  '11  be  there  if  I  land  in  the  guard-house  for  it." 

"Why,  your  time  's  up  Saturday,  is  n't  it  ?  ®h ! 
I  forgot  those  three  extra  days.  Captain  Phipps 
has  got  to  let  you  off.  He  will  if  I  tell  him  to." 

At  this  something  quite  unexpected  and  elemental 
surged  up  in  Quin.  He  forgot  the  amenities  that 
he  had  taken  such  pains  to  observe  in  Miss  Bart- 
lett's  presence,  he  entirely  lost  sight  of  the  social 
gap  that  lay  between  them,  and  blurted  out  with 
deadly  earnestness: 

"Say,  are  you  his  girl?" 

This  had  the  effect  of  bringing  Miss  Bartlett 
promptly  to  her  feet,  and  the  next  instant  poor 
Quin  was  saying  in  an  agony  of  regret : 

"I  'm  sorry,  Miss  Bartlett.  I  did  n't  mean  to  be 
nervy.  Honest,  I  did  n't.  Wait  a  minute — 
please " 

But  she  was  gone,  leaving  him  to  spend  the  rest 
of  the  afternoon  searching  for  a  phrase  sufficiently 
odious  to  express  his  own  opinion  of  himself. 


CHAPTER  4 

ELEANOR  BARTLETT,  speeding  home  from 
the  hospital  with  Captain  Phipps  beside  her, 
repeated  Quin's  question  to  herself  more  than  once. 
Up  to  the  present  her  loves,  like  her  friendships, 
had  been  entirely  episodic.  She  had  gone  easily 
from  one  affair  to  another  not  so  much  from  fickle- 
ness as  from  growth.  What  she  wanted  on  Monday 
did  not  seem  in  the  least  desirable  on  Saturday,  and 
it  was  a  new  and  disturbing  sensation  to  have  the 
same  person  dominating  her  thoughts  for  so  many 
consecutive  days.  If  her  relations  with  the  young 
officer  from  Chicago  were  as  platonic  as  she  would 
have  herself  and  her  family  believe,  why  had  she 
allowed  the  affair  to  arrive  at  a  stage  that  precipi- 
tated her  banishment?  Why  was  she  even  now 
flying  in  the  face  of  authority  and  risking  a  serious 
reprimand  by  letting  him  ride  in  her  car? 

In  fierce  justification  she  told  herself  it  was  simply 
because  the  family  had  meddled.  If  they  had  not 
interfered,  things  would  never  have  reached  the 
danger  mark.  She  had  met  Captain  Phipps  three 
weeks  ago  at  her  Uncle  Randolph  Bartlett's,  and  had 
at  first  not  been  sure  that  she  liked  him.  He  had 

44 


QUIN  45 

seemed  then  a  little  superior  and  condescending, 
and  had  evidently  considered  her  too  young  to  be 
interesting.  But  the  next  time  they  met  there  Aunt 
Flo  had  made  her  do  the  balcony  scene  from 
"Romeo  and  Juliet,"  and  since  then  all  had  been 
different. 

Captain  Phipps  had  not  only  monopolized  her 
at  the  dances — he  had  also  found  time  from  his  not 
over-arduous  military  duties  to  drop  in  on  her  fre- 
quently in  the  afternoons.  For  hours  at  a  time 
they  had  sat  in  the  long,  dim  Bartlett  parlor,  with 
only  the  ghostly  bust  of  old  Madam  Bartlett  for  a 
chaperon,  ostensibly  absorbed  in  the  study  of 
modern  drama,  but  finding  ample  time  to  dwell  at 
length  upon  Eleanor's  qualifications  for  the  stage 
and  the  Captain's  budding  genius  as  a  playwright. 
And  just  when  Ibsen  and  Pinero  were  giving  place 
to  Sudermann,  and  vague  personal  ambitions  were 
crystallizing  into  definite  plans,  the  family  inter- 
fered. 

The  causes  of  their  condemnation  were  as  varied 
as  they  were  numerous.  He  was  ten  years  older 
than  Eleanor ;  he  was  too  sophisticated  a  companion 
for  a  young  girl;  he  had  taken  her  to  a  public 
dance-hall  on  New  Year's  eve,  where  she  had  been 
seen  dancing  with  an  unknown  private ;  he  had  been 
quite  insolent  to  Madam  when  she  had  taken  him 
to  task  for  it ;  and,  most  heinouss  of  all,  he  was 
encouraging  her  in  her  ambition  to  go  on  the  stage. 


46  QUIN 

And  beneath  it  all,  Eleanor  knew  quite  well,  was 
the  nervous  flutter  of  apprehension  that  seized  the 
entire  family  whenever  a  threatening  masculine 
presence  loomed  on  the  horizon. 

She  stole  a  glance  at  her  handsome  companion, 
and,  seeing  that  he  was  observing  her,  quickly  low- 
ered her  eyes.  The  Captain  had  a  flattering  way  of 
studying  her  poses,  remarking  on  the  lines  of  her 
gowns  and  her  hats.  He  was  constantly  discovering 
interesting  things  about  her  that  she  had  not  known 
before.  But  sometimes,  as  now,  she  was  restive 
under  his  too  close  scrutiny. 

"So  you  are  actually  going  to  leave  me  next 
week?"  he  asked,  with  a  note  of  personal  aggrieve- 
ment. 

"To  leave  you?  I  like  that!  If  it  weren't  for 
you  I  should  n't  be  going." 

"Are  they  really  sending  you  away  on  my 
account?" 

"Indeed  they  are.  Grandmother  says  you  are 
encouraging  me  about  the  stage,  and  that  poor  Papa 
Claude  is  demoralizing  us  both." 

"Isn't  that  absurd?"  said  the  Captain.  "Dear 
old  C.  M.  is  about  as  innocuous  as  a  peacock. 
Madam  Bartlett  should  have  been  born  in  the 
seventeenth  century.  What  will  she  say  when  she 
sees  your  name  blazing  over  a  Broadway  theater?" 

"In  one  of  your  plays !  Oh,  Captain,  would  n't 
that  be  glorious  ?" 


QUIN  47 

"Have  n't  I  asked  you  to  drop  the  'Captain'  ?  My 
name  is  Harold.  Say  it!" 

"No;  I  can't." 

"Yes,  you  can.    Come !" 

But  she  defied  him  with  tightly  closed  lips  and 
dancing  eyes.  With  feminine  instinct  she  had  dis- 
covered that  the  irresistible  Captain  was  piqued  and 
stimulated  by  the  unusual  taste  of  opposition. 

"You  little  minx!"  he  said,  lifting  an  accusing 
finger.  "Those  eyes  of  yours  are  going  to  do  a 
lot  of  damage  before  they  get  through  with  it." 

Eleanor  took  kindly  to  the  thought  that  she  was 
dangerous.  If  she  could  cause  disturbance  to  an 
individual  by  the  guarded  flutter  of  her  eyelids, 
what  effect  might  she  not  produce  by  giving  them 
full  play  before  a  larger  audience? 

"Do  you  really  think  I  could  act  if  I  got  the 
chance?"  she  asked  dreamily. 

"I  am  absolutely  sure.  Your  grandfather  's  quite 
right  when  he  says  you  were  born  to  the  footlights. 
With  your  voice  and  your  unusual  coloring  and  your 
plastic  little  body " 

"But  you  can't  imagine  the  opposition,"  Eleanor 
broke  in.  "It  is  n't  as  if  my  mother  and  father 
were  living.  I  believe  they  would  understand.  But 
grandfather  and  the  aunties,  and  even  Uncle  Ranny, 
throw  a  fit  at  the  mere  mention  of  the  stage." 

"You  do  not  belong  to  them,"  said  the  Captain 
impatiently.  "You  do  not  even  belong  to  yourself. 


48  QUIN 

A  great  talent  belongs  to  the  world.  All  these 
questions  will  settle  themselves,  once  you  take  the 
definite  step." 

"And  you  actually  believe  that  I  will  get  to  New 
York  to  study?" 

"I  don't  believe — I  know.  I  intend  to  make  it 
my  business  to  see  that  you  do." 

There  was  a  confident  ring  of  masterful  assurance 
in  his  voice  that  carried  delicious  conviction.  A 
person  who  was  so  absolutely  sure  of  himself  made 
other  people  sure  of  him,  too,  for  the  moment. 

Eleanor,  sitting  low  in  the  car,  with  her  absent 
eyes  fixed  on  the  road  ahead,  lapsed  into  a  day- 
dream. From  an  absorbed  contemplation  of  herself 
and  her  dramatic  career,  her  mind  veered  in  grati- 
tude to  the  one  who  most  believed  in  its  possibility. 
What  a  friend  he  had  been !  Just  when  she  had 
been  ready  to  give  up  in  despair,  he  had  fanned  her 
dying  hope  into  a  glorious  blaze  that  illuminated 
every  waking  hour.  And  it  was  not  only  his  sympa- 
thetic interest  in  her  thwarted  ambition  that  touched 
her:  it  was  also  the  fact  that  he  had  rescued  her 
from  the  daily  boredom  of  sitting  with  elderly  ladies 
making  interminable  surgical  dressings,  and  by  an 
adroit  bit  of  diplomacy  outwitted  the  family  and 
introduced  her  as  a  ward  visitor  at  the  camp  hospital. 

The  mere  thought  of  the  hospital  sent  her  mind 
flying  off  at  a  tangent.  Even  the  stage  gave  way 
for  the  moment  to  this  new  and  all-absorbing  occu- 


QUIN  49 

pation.  Never  in  her  life  had  she  done  anything 
so  interesting.  The  escape  from  home,  the  personal 
contact  with  all  those  nice,  jolly  boys,  the  excitement 
of  being  of  service  for  the  first  time  in  her  butterfly 
existence,  was  intoxicating.  She  smiled  now  as  she 
thought  of  the  way  Graham's  eager  head  always 
popped  up  the  moment  she  entered  the  door,  and  of 
how  his  face  shone  when  she  talked  to  him.  After 
all,  she  told  herself,  there  was  something  thrilling  in 
having  hands  that  had  captured  a  machine-gun 
laboriously  threading  tiny  beads  for  her,  in  having 
a  soldier  who  had  been  decorated  for  courage 
stammer  and  blush  in  her  presence. 

"Well,"  said  the  Captain,  who  had  been  lazily 
observing  her,  "are  n't  you  about  through  with  your 
mental  monologue?" 

Eleanor  roused  herself  with  a  start. 

"Oh,  I  am  sorry !  I  was  thinking  about  my  boys 
at  the  hospital.  You  can't  imagine  how  I  hate  to 
leave  them !" 

The  answer  was  evidently  not  what  the  Captain 
had  expected.  As  long  as  his  company  of  feminine 
admirers  marched  in  adoring  unison  he  was  indif- 
ferent to  their  existence;  but  let  one  miss  step  and 
he  was  instantly  on  the  alert. 

"I  haven't  noticed  any  tears  being  shed  over 
leaving  rne,"  he  said,  and  the  aggrieved  note  in  his 
voice  promptly  stirred  her  humor. 


50  QUIN 

"Why  should  I  mind  leaving  you?  You  don't 
need  me." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

She  looked  at  him  scoffingly. 

"You  don't  need  anything  or  anybody.  You  've 
got  all  you  want  in  yourself." 

"I  '11  show  you  what  I  want !"  he  said,  and, 
quickly  bending  toward  her,  he  kissed  her  on  the 
cheek. 

It  was  the  merest  brush  of  his  lips,  but  it  brought 
the  color  flaming  into  her  face  and  the  lightning 
into  her  eyes.  She  had  never  been  so  angry  in  her 
life,  and  it  seemed  to  her  an  age  that  she  sat  there 
rigid  and  indignant,  suffocated  by  his  nearness  but 
powerless  to  move  away.  Then  she  got  the  car 
stopped,  and  announced  with  great  dignity  that  she 
was  nearly  home  and  that  she  would  have  to  ask 
him  to  get  out. 

Captain  Phipps  lazily  descended  from  the  car, 
then  stood  with  elbows  on  the  ledge  of  the  door  and 
rolled  a  cigarette  with  great  deliberation.  Eleanor, 
in  spite  of  her  wrath,  could  not  help  admiring  the 
graceful,  conscious  movement  of  his  slender  hands 
with  their  highly  polished  nails.  It  was  not  until 
he  had  struck  his  match  that  he  looked  at  her  and 
smiled  quizzically. 

"What  a  dear  little  goose  you  are !  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  stage  lovers  are  going  to  stand  in  the 
wings  and  throw  kisses  to  you  ?" 


QUIN  51 

"No,"  said  Eleanor  hotly;  "but  that  will  bs 
different." 

"It  certainly  will,"  he  agreed  amiably.  ''You 
will  not  only  have  to  be  kissed,  but  you  will  have  to 
kiss  back.  You  have  a  lot  of  little  puritanical 
prejudices  to  get  over,  my  dear,  before  you  can 
ever  hope  to  act.  You  don't  want  to  be  a  thin- 
blooded  little  old  maid,  do  you?" 

The  shot  was  well  aimed,  for  Eleanor  had  no 
desire  to  follow  in  the  arid  footsteps  of  her  two 
spinster  aunts.  She  looked  at  Captain  Phipps 
unsteadily  and  shook  her  head. 

"Of  course  you  don't,"  he  encouraged  her.  "You 
are  n't  built  for  it.  Besides,  it 's  an  actress's  busi- 
ness to  cultivate  her  emotions  rather  than  repress 
them,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  is/' 

"Then,  for  heaven's  sake,  obey  your  impulses 
and  let  other  people  obey  theirs.  From  now  on  you 
are  to  be  identified  with  a  profession  that  transcends 
the  petty  conventions  of  society.  Confess!  Aren't 
you  already  a  little  ashamed  of  getting  angry  with 
me  just  now?" 

She  was  not  ashamed,  not  in  the  least;  but  her 
ardent  desire  to  prove  her  fitness  for  that  coveted 
profession,  together  with  the  compelling  insistence 
of  that  persuasive  voice,  prompted  her  to  hold  out 
a  reluctant  hand  and  to  smile. 

"You  are  a  darling  child!"  said  Captain  Phipps, 


52  QUIN 

with  a  level  glance  of  approval.     "I  shall  see  you 
to-morrow.     When  ?    Where  ?" 

But  she  would  make  no  engagement.  She  was 
in  a  flutter  to  be  gone.  It  was  her  first  experience 
at  dancing  on  a  precipice,  and,  while  she  liked  it, 
she  could  not  deny,  even  to  herself,  that  at  times 
it  made  her  uncomfortably  hot  and  dizzy. 


CHAPTER  5 

ELEANOR'S  thoughts  were  still  in  a  turmoil 
as  she  slowed  her  car  to  a  within-the-law  limit 
of  speed  and  brought  it  to  a  dignified  halt  before 
an  imposing  edifice  on  Third  Avenue.  The  precau- 
tion was  well  taken,  for  a  long,  pale  face  that  had 
been  pressed  to  a  front  window  promptly  trans- 
ferred itself  to  the  front  door,  and  an  anxious  voice 
called  out: 

"Oh,  Nellie,  why  did  you  stay  out  so  late?  Did  n't 
you  know  it  was  your  duty  to  be  in  before  five?" 

"It 's  not  late,  Aunt  Isobel,"  said  Eleanor  impa- 
tiently. "It  gets  dark  early,  that 's  all." 

"And  you  must  be  frozen,"  persisted  Miss  Isobel, 
"with  those  thin  pumps  and  silk  stockings,  and 
nothing  but  that  veil  on  your  head." 

"But  I  'm  hot!"  declared  Eleanor,  throwing  open 
her  coat.  "The  house  is  stifling.  Can't  we  have  a 
window  open?" 

Miss  Isobel  sighed.  Like  the  rest  of  the  family, 
she  never  knew  what  to  expect  from  this  trouble- 
some, adorable,  disturbing  mystery  called  Eleanor. 
She  worshiped  her  with  the  solicitous,  over-anxious 
care  that  saw  fever  in  the  healthy  flush  of  youth, 

53 


54  QUIN 

regarded  a  sneeze  as  premonitory  of  consumption, 
and  waited  with  dark  certitude  for  the  "something 
dreadful"  that  instinct  told  her  was  ever  about  to 
happen  to  her  darling. 

"I  am  afraid  your  grandmother  is  terribly  upset 
about  your  staying  out  so  late,"  she  said,  with  a 
note  of  warning  in  her  voice, 

"What  made  you  tell  her  ?"  demanded  Eleanor. 

"Because  she  asked  me,  and  of  course  I  could  not 
deceive  her.  I  don't  believe  you  know  how  hard 
it  is  to  keep  things  from  her." 

"Don't  I!"  said  Eleanor,  with  the  tolerant  smile 
of  a  professional  for  an  amateur.  "Well,  a  few 
minutes  more  won't  make  any  difference.  I  '11  go 
and  change  my  dress." 

"No,  dear ;  you  must  go  to  her  first.  She  's  been 
sending  Hannah  down  every  few  minutes  to  see  if 
you  were  here." 

"Oh,  dear !  I  suppose  I  'm  in  for  it !"  sighed 
Eleanor,  flinging  her  coat  across  the  banister. 
Then,  in  answer  to  a  plaintive  voice  from  the  library, 
"Yes,  Aunt  Enid?" 

"Why  on  earth  are  you  so  late,  sweetheart? 
Didn't  you  know  your  grandmother  would  be 
fretted?" 

The  possessor  of  the  plaintive  voice  emerged 
from  the  library,  trailing  an  Oriental  scarf  as  she 
came.  Like  her  elder  sister,  she  was  tall  and  thin, 
but  she  did  not  wear  Miss  Isobel's  look  of  mar- 


QUIN  55 

tyred  resignation.  On  the  contrary,  she  had  the 
starved  look  of  one  who  is  constantly  trying  to  pick 
up  the  crumbs  of  interest  that  other  peopk  kt  fall. 

Enid  Bartlett  might  have  passed  for  a  pretty 
woman  had  her  appearance  not  been  permanently 
affected  by  an  artist  once  telling  her  she  looked  like 
a  Botticelli.  Since  that  time  she  had  done  queer 
things  to  her  hair,  pursed  her  lips,  and  cultivated 
an  expression  of  chronic  yearning. 

"I  have  n't  seen  you  since  breakfast,  Nellie,"  she 
said  gently.  "Haven't  you  a  kiss  for  me?" 

Eleanor  presented  a  perfunctory  cheek  over  the 
banisters,  taking  care  that  it  was  not  the  one  that 
had  been  kissed  a  few  minutes  before. 

"Remember  your  promise,"  Aunt  Enid  whis- 
pered; "don't  forget  that  your  grandmother  is  an 
old  lady  and  you  must  not  excite  her." 

"But  she  excites  me,"  said  Eleanor  doggedly. 
"She  makes  me  want  to  smash  windows  and  scream." 

"Why,  Nellie!"  Miss  Enid's  mournful  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  Instantly  Eleanor  was  all  con- 
trition. 

"I  'm  sorry !"  she  said,  with  a  real  kiss  this  time, 
"I  '11  behave.  Give  you  my  word  I  will !"  And, 
with  an  affectionate  squeeze  of  the  hand  that  clasped 
hers,  she  ran  up  the  steps. 

The  upper  hall,  like  the  rest  of  the  house,  was 
pervaded  by  an  air  of  gloomy  grandeur.  Every- 
thing was  dreary,  formal,  fixed.  Not  an  ornament 


56  QUIN 

or  a  picture  had  been  changed  since  Eleanor  could 
remember.  She  was  the  only  young  thing  about  the 
place,  and  it  always  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  house 
and  its  occupants  were  conspiring  to  make  her  old 
and  staid  and  stupid,  like  themselves. 

At  the  door  of  her  grandmother's  room  she 
paused.  As  far  back  as  she  could  remember,  her 
quarrels  with  her  grandmother  had  been  the  most 
terrifying  events  of  her  life.  Repetition  never 
robbed  them  of  their  horror,  and  no  amount  of 
spoiling  between  times  could  make  up  to  her  for  the 
violence  of  the  moment.  It  took  all  the  courage 
she  had  to  turn  the  knob  of  the  door  and  enter. 

A  brigadier-general  planning  an  important  cam- 
paign would  have  presented  no  more  commanding 
presence  than  did  the  formidable  old  lady  who  sat 
at  a  flat-top  desk,  issuing  orders  in  a  loud,  decisive 
tone  to  a  small  meek-looking  man  who  stood  before 
her.  The  most  arresting  feature  about  Madam 
Bartlett  was  a  towering  white  pompadour  that 
began  where  most  pompadours  end,  and  soared  to 
a  surprising  height  above  her  large,  handsome,  mas- 
culine face.  The  fact  that  her  hair  line  had  gradu- 
ally receded  from  her  forehead  to  the  top  of  her 
head  affected  no  change  whatever  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  her  coiffure.  Neither  in  regard  to  her  hair 
nor  to  her  figure  had  she  yielded  one  iota  to  the 
whims  of  Nature.  Her  body  was  still  confined  in 
the  stiffest  of  stays,  and  in  spite  of  her  seventy  years 


QUIN  57 

was  as  straight  as  an  arrow.  At  Eleanor's  entrance 
she  motioned  her  peremptorily  to  a  chair  and  pro- 
ceeded with  the  business  in  hand. 

"You  go  back  and  tell  Mr.  Bangs,"  she  was  say- 
ing to  the  meek-looking  person,  "that  I  want  him 
to  send  somebody  up  here  who  knows  more  than 
you  do.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

The  meek  one  evidently  understood,  for  he 
reached  nervously  for  his  cap. 

"Wait!"  commanded  Madam  peremptorily. 
"Don't  start  off  like  that,  while  I  am  talking  to 
you !  Tell  Mr.  Bangs  this  is  the  third  time  I  've 
asked  him  to  send  me  the  report  of  Bartlett  & 
Bangs'  export  business  for  the  past  year.  I  want 
it  immediately.  I  am  not  in  my  dotage  yet.  I  still 
have  some  say-so  in  the  firm.  Well,  what  are  you 
waiting  for?" 

"I  was  waiting  to  know  if  there  was  anything 
more,  ma'am." 

"If  there  had  been  I  would  have  said  so.  Tell 
Hannah  to  come  in  as  you  go  out." 

Eleanor  looked  at  her  grandmother  expectantly, 
but  there  was  no  answering  glance.  The  old  lady 
was  evidently  in  one  of  her  truculent  moods  that 
brooked  no  interference, 

"Has  the  plumber  come?"  she  demanded  of  the 
elderly  colored  maid  who  appeared  at  the  door. 

"No,  ma'am.     He  can't  get  here  till  to-morrow." 

"Tell  him  I  won't  wait.    If  he  can't  come  within 


58  QUIN 

an  hour  he  need  n't  come  at  all.     Where  is  Tom  ?" 

Hannah's  eyes  shifted  uneasily.  "Tom?  Why, 
Tom,  he  thought  you  discharged  him." 

"So  I  did.  But  he 's  not  to  go  until  I  get 
another  butler.  Send  him  up  here  at  once." 

"But  he  ain't  here,"  persisted  Hannah  fearfully. 
"He  's  went  for  good  this  time." 

Eleanor,  sitting  demurely  by  the  door,  had  a  mo- 
ment of  unholy  exultation.  Old  black  Tom,  the 
butler,  had  been  Madam's  chief  domestic  prop  for 
a  quarter  of  a  century.  He  had  been  the  patient 
buffer  between  her  and  the  other  servants,  taking 
her  domineering  with  unfailing  meekness,  and  even 
venturing  her  defense  when  mutiny  threatened  below 
stairs.  "You-all  don't  understand  old  Miss,"  he 
would  say  loyally.  "She  's  all  right,  only  she  's  jes' 
nachully  mean,  dat  's  all." 

In  the  turning  of  this  humble  worm,  Eleanor  felt 
in  some  vague  way  a  justification  of  her  own 
rebellion. 

His  departure,  however,  did  not  tend  to  clear  the 
domestic  atmosphere.  By  the  time  Madam  had 
settled  the  plumbing  question  and  expressed  her 
opinion  of  Tom  and  all  his  race,  she  was  in  no  mood 
to  deal  leniently  with  the  shortcomings  of  a  head- 
strong young  granddaughter. 

"Well,"  she  said,  addressing  her  at  last,  "why 
didn't  you  make  it  midnight?" 

"It 's  only  a  little  after  five."    Eleanor  knew  she 


QUIN  59 

was  putting  up  a  feeble  defense,  and  her  hands  grew 
cold. 

"It  is  nearly  six,  and  it  is  dark.  Couldn't  you 
have  withdrawn  the  sunshine  of  your  presence  from 
the  hospital  half  an  hour  sooner?" 

Under  her  sharp  glance  there  was  a  curious  pro- 
tective tenderness,  the  savage  concern  of  a  lioness 
for  her  whelp;  but  Eleanor  saw  only  the  scoffing 
expression  in  the  keen  eyes,  and  heard  the  note  of 
irony  in  all  she  said. 

"Your  going  out  to  the  hospital  is  all  foolishness, 
anyhow,"  the  old  lady  continued,  sorting  her  papers 
with  efficiency.  "Contagious  diseases,  germs,  and 
what  not.  But  some  women  would  be  willing  to  go 
to  Hades  if  they  could  tie  a  becoming  rag  around 
their  heads.  Why  did  n't  you  dress  yourself  prop- 
erly before  you  came  in  here?" 

"I  wanted  to,  but  Aunt " 

"Aunt  Enid,  I  suppose!  If  rt  was  left  to  her 
she  'd  have  you  trailing  around  in  a  Greek  tunic  and 
sandals,  with  a  laurel  wreath  on  your  head." 

There  was  an  ominous  pause,  during  which 
Madam's  wrinkled,  bony  hands,  flashing  with  dia- 
monds, searched  rapidly  among  the  papers. 

"You  are  all  ready  to  start  on  Monday?  Your 
clothes  are  in  good  condition,  I  presume  ?** 

Eleanor  brought  her  gaze  from  a  detached  con- 
templation of  the  ceiling  to  a  critical  inspection  of 
her  finger-nails. 


6o  QUIN 

"I  suppose  Aunt  Isobel  has  attended  to  them," 
she  said  indifferently. 

"Aunt  Isobel,  indeed !"  snarled  Madam.  "You  'd 
lean  on  a  broken  reed  if  you  depended  on  Isobel. 
And  Enid  is  no  better.  /  attended  to  your  clothes. 
I  got  you  everything  you  need,  even  down  to  a  new 
set  of  furs." 

"Silver  fox?"  asked  Eleanor,  brightening  visibly. 

"No,  mink.  I  can't  abide  fox.  Ah !  here  's  what 
I  am  looking  for.  Your  ticket  and  berth  reserva- 
tion. Train  leaves  at  ten-thirty  Monday  morning." 

"Grandmother,"  ventured  Eleanor,  summing  up 
courage  to  lead  a  forlorn  hope,  "you  are  just  wast- 
ing money  sending  me  back  to  Baltimore." 

"It 's  my  money,"  said  the  old  lady  grimly. 

"It 's  your  money,  but  it  is  my  life,"  Eleanor 
urged,  with  a  quiver  in  her  voice.  "If  you  are 
going  to  send  me  away,  why  not  send  me  to  New 
York  and  let  me  do  the  one  thing  in  the  world  I 
want  to  do?" 

That  Madam  should  be  willing  to  furnish 
unlimited  funds  for  finishing  schools,  music  lessons, 
painting  lessons,  and  every  "extra"  that  the  curricu- 
lum offered,  and  yet  refuse  to  cultivate  her  one  real 
talent,  seemed  to  Eleanor  the  most  unreasonable 
autocracy.  She  had  no  way  of  knowing  that 
Madam's  indomitable  pride,  still  quivering  with  the 
memory  of  her  oldest  son's  marriage  to  an  unknown 
young  actress,  recoiled  instinctively  from  the  theatri- 


QUIN  61 

cal  rock  on  which  so  many  of  her  old  hopes  had 
been  wrecked. 

Eleanor's  persistence  in  recurring  to  this  most 
distasteful  of  subjects  roused  her  to  fury.  A  purple 
flush  suffused  her  face,  and  her  cheeks  puffed  in 
and  out  as  she  breathed. 

"I  suppose  Claude  Martel  has  it  all  mapped  out," 
she  said.  "He  and  that  fool  Harold  Phipps  have 
stirred  you  up  to  a  pretty  pitch.  What  do  you  see 
in  that  silly  coxcomb,  anyhow  ?" 

"If  you  mean  Captain  Phipps,"  Eleanor  said  with 
dignity,  "I  see  a  great  deal.  He  is  one  of  the  most 
cultivated  men  I  ever  met." 

"Fiddlesticks !  He  smells  like  a  soap-counter ! 
When  I  see  an  affected  man  I  see  a  fool.  He  has 
airs  enough  to  fill  a  music-box.  But  that 's  neither 
here  nor  there.  You  understand  definitely  that  I  do 
not  wish  you  to  see  him  again?" 

Eleanor's  silence  did  not  satisfy  Madam.  She 
insisted  upon  a  verbal  assurance,  which  Eleanor 
was  loath  to  give. 

"I  tell  you  once  for  all,  young  lady,"  said  Madam, 
by  this  time  roused  to  fury,  "that  you  have  got  to  do 
what  I  say  for  another  year.  After  that  you  will 
be  twenty-one,  and  you  can  go  to  the  devil,  if  you 
want  to." 

"Grandmother!"  cried  Eleanor,  shrinking  as  if 
from  a  physical  blow.  Then,  remembering  her 
promise  to  her  Aunt  Enid,  she  bit  her  lip  and  strug- 


62  QUIN 

gled  to  keep  back  the  tears.  As  she  started  to 
leave  the  room,  Madam  called  her  back. 

"Here,  take  this,"  she  said  gruffly,  thrusting  a 
small  morocco  box  into  her  hand.  "Isobel  and 
Enid  never  had  decent  necks  to  hang  'em  on.  See 
that  you  don't  lose  them."  And  without  more  ado 
she  thrust  Eleanor  out  of  the  room  and  shut  the 
door  in  her  face. 

Eleanor  fled  down  the  hall  to  her  own  room,  and 
after  locking  the  door  flung  herself  on  the  bed.  It 
was  always  like  that,  she  told  herself  passionately; 
they  nagged  at  her  and  tormented  her  and  wore 
her  out  with  their  care  and  anxiety,  and  then  suffo- 
cated her  with  their  affection.  She  did  not  want 
their  presents.  She  wanted  freedom,  the  right  to 
live  her  own  life,  think  her  own  thoughts,  make 
her  own  decisions.  She  did  not  mean  to  be 
ungrateful,  but  she  couldn't  please  them  all!  The 
family  expectations  of  her  were  too  high,  too  differ- 
ent from  what  she  wanted.  Other  girls  with  half 
her  talents  for  the  stage  had  succeeded,  and  just 
because  she  was  a  Bartlett 

She  clenched  her  fists  and  wished  for  the  hun- 
dredth time  that  she  had  never  been  born.  She 
had  been  a  bone  of  contention  all  her  life,  and, 
even  when  the  two  families  were  not  fighting  over 
her,  the  Bartlett  blood  was  warring  with  the  Martel 
blood  within  her.  Her  standards  were  hopelessly 
confused;  she  did  not  know  what  she  wanted 


QUIN  63 

except  that  she  wanted  passionately  to  be  let  alone. 

"Nellie!"  called  a  gentle  voice  on  the  other  side 
of  the  door.  "Are  you  ready  for  dinner?" 

"Don't  want  any  dinner,"  she  mumbled  from  the 
depths  of  a  pillow. 

The  door-handle  turned  softly  and  the  voice  per- 
sisted : 

"You  must  unlock  the  door,  dearie;  I  want  to 
speak  to  you." 

Eleanor  flung  herself  off  the  bed  and  opened  the 
door.  "I  tell  you,  I  don't  want  any  dinner,  Aunt 
Enid,"  she  declared  petulantly. 

Miss  Enid  drew  her  down  on  the  bed  beside  her 
and  regarded  her  with  pensive  persuasion.  "I 
know,  Nelchen;  I  often  feel  like  that.  But  you 
must  come  down  and  make  a  pretense  of  eating. 
It  upsets  your  grandmother  to  have  any  one  of  us 
absent  from  meals." 

"Everything  I  do  upsets  her !"  cried  Eleanor  with 
tragic  insistence.  "I  can't  please  her — there  's  no  use 
trying.  Why  does  she  treat  me  the  way  she  does? 
Why  does  she  sometimes  almost  seem  to  hate  me?" 

Miss  Enid's  eyes  involuntarily  glanced  at  the 
picture  of  Eleanor's  mother  over  the  desk,  taken 
in  the  doublet  and  hose  of  Rosalind. 

"Hush,  child ;  you  must  n't  say  such  awful 
things,"  she  said,  drawing  the  girl  close  and  stroking 
her  hair.  "Mother  adores  you.  Think  of  all  she 
has  done  for  you  ever  since  you  were  a  tiny  baby. 


64  QUIN 

What  other  girl  of  your  acquaintance  has  her  own 
car,  all  the  pretty  clothes  she  can  wear,  and  as  much 
pin-money  as  she  can  spend?" 

"But  that 's  not  what  I  want!"  cried  Eleanor 
tragically.  "I  want  to  be  something  and  to  do  some- 
thing. I  feel  like  I  am  in  prison  here.  I  'm  not 
good  and  resigned  like  you  and  Aunt  Isobel,  and  I 
simply  refuse  to  go  through  life  standing  grand- 
mother's tyranny." 

Poor  Eleanor,  so  intolerably  sensitive  to  con- 
tacts, so  hopelessly  confused  in  her  bearings,  sitting 
red-eyed  and  miserable,  kicking  her  feet  against  the 
side  of  the  bed,  looked  much  more  like  a  naughty 
child  than  like  the  radiant  Lady  Bountiful  who  had 
dispensed  favors  and  received  homage  in  the  hospi- 
tal a  few  hours  before. 

So  swift  was  the  sympathetic  action  of  her  nerves 
that  any  change  in  her  physical  condition  affected 
her  whole  nature,  making  her  an  enigma  to  herself 
as  well  as  to  others.  Even  as  she  sat  there  rebellious 
and  defiant,  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  small  morocco 
box  on  her  pillow,  and  she  picked  it  up  and  opened  it. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Enid!"  she  cried  in  instant  remorse. 
"Just  look  what  she  's  given  me !  Her  string  of 
pearls!  The  ones  she  wore  in  the  portrait!  And 
just  think  of  what  I  've  been  saying  about  her. 
I  'm  a  beast,  a  regular  little  beast !" 

And  with  characteristic  impetuosity  she  flung 
herself  on  Miss  Enid's  neck  and  burst  into  tears. 


CHAPTER  6 

THE  sun  was  getting  ready  to  set  on  Sunday 
afternoon  when  a  tall,  trim-looking  figure 
turned  the  corner  of  the  street  leading  to  the 
Martels'  and  broke  into  a  run.  In  one  hand  he 
carried  a  large  suit-case,  and  in  the  other  he  held 
a  bead  chain  wrapped  in  tissue-paper.  In  the  breast 
pocket  of  his  uniform  was  a  paper  stating  that 
Quinby  Graham  was  thereby  honorably  discharged 
from  the  U.S.A. 

Whether  it  was  his  enforced  rest,  or  his  state 
of  mind,  or  a  combination  of  the  two,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  say ;  but  at  least  ten  pounds  had  been  added 
to  his  figure,  the  hollows  had  about  gone  from  his 
eyes,  and  a  natural  color  had  returned  to  his  face. 
But  the  old  cough  remained,  as  was  evident  when 
he  presented  himself  breathless  at  the  Martels'  door 
and  demanded  of  Cass: 

"Has  she  gone?" 

"Who?" 

"Miss  Bartlett" 

"I  believe  she 's  fixing  to  go  now.  What 's  it 
to  you?" 

"Oh,  I  just  want  to  say  good-by,"  Quin  threw 
65 


66  QUIN 

off  with  a  great  show  of  indifference.  "She  was 
awful  good  to  me  out  at  the  hospital." 

"Oh,  I  see."  Then  Cass  dismissed  the  subject 
for  one  of  far  more  importance.  "Are  you  out  for 
keeps?  Have  you  come  to  stay?" 

"You  bet  I  have.    How  long  has  she  been  here?" 

"Who?" 

"Miss  Bartlctt,  I  tell  you." 

"Oh!  I  don't  know.  All  day,  I  reckon.  I  got 
to  take  her  home  now  in  a  minute,  but  I  '11  be  back 
soon.  Don't  you  go  anywhere  till  I  come  back." 

Quin  seized  his  arm :  "Cass,  I  '11  take  her  home 
for  you.  I  don't  mind  a  bit,  honest  I  don't.  I  need 
some  exercise." 

"Old  lady  'd  throw  a  fit,"  objected  Cass.  "Old 
grandmother,  I  mean.  Regular  Tartar.  Old  aunts 
are  just  as  bad.  They  devil  the  life  out  of  Nell, 
except  when  she  's  deviling  the  life  out  of  them." 

"How  do  you  mean?"  Quin  encouraged  him. 

"I  mean  Nell 's  a  handful  all  right.  She  kicks 
over  the  traces  every  time  she  gets  a  chance.  I 
don't  blame  her.  They  're  a  rotten  bunch  of  snobs, 
and  she  knows  it." 

"Well,  I  could  leave  her  at  the  door,"  Quin 
urged.  "I  would  n't  let  her  in  for  anything  for 
the  world.  But  I  got  to  talk  to  her,  I  tell  you;  I 
got  to  thank  her " 

Meanwhile,  in  the  room  above  the  young  lady 
under  discussion  was  leisurely  adjusting  a  new  and 


QUIN  67 

most  becoming  hat  before  a  cracked  mirror  while 
she  discussed  a  subject  of  perennial  interest  to  the 
eternal  feminine. 

"Rose,"  she  was  asking,  "what's  the  first  thing 
you  notice  about  a  man?" 

Rose,  sitting  on  the  side  of  the  bed  nursing  little 
Bino,  the  latest  addition  to  the  family,  answered 
promptly : 

"His  mouth,  of  course.  I  would  n't  marry  a  man 
who  showed  his  gums  when  he  laughed,  not  if 
£very  hair  of  his  head  was  strung  with  diamonds !" 

The  visualization  of  this  unpleasant  picture  threw 
Eleanor  into  peals  of  laughter  which  upset  the 
carefully  acquired  angle  of  the  new  hat,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  nerves  of  the  young  gentleman  just 
arrived  in  the  hall  below. 

"I  was  n't  thinking  of  his  looks  only,"  she  said ; 
"I  mean  everything  about  him." 

"Why,  I  guess  it 's  whether  he  notices  me,"  said 
Rose  after  deliberation. 

"Exactly,"  agreed  Eleanor.  "Not  only  you  or 
me,  but  girls.  Take  Cass,  for  instance;  girls  might 
just  as  well  be  broomsticks  to  Cass,  all  except  Fan 
Loomis.  Now,  when  Captain  Phipps  looks  at 
you " 

"He  never  would,"  said  Rose ;  "he  'd  look 
straight  over  my  head.  I  '11  tell  you  who  is  a  better 
example — Mr.  Graham." 

Eleanor   smiled   reminiscently.      "Oh,    Sergeant 


68  QUIN 

Slim?  he's  thrilled,  all  right!  Always  looks  as  if 
he  couldn't  wait  a  minute  to  hear  what  you  are 
going  to  say  next." 

"He  's  not  as  susceptible  as  he  looks,"  Rose  pro- 
nounced from  her  vantage-point  of  seniority. 
"He  's  just  got  a  way  with  him  that  fools  people. 
Cass  says  girls  are  always  crazy  about  him,  and 
that  he  never  cares  for  any  of  them  more  than  a 
week." 

"Much  Cass  knows  about  it!"  said  Cass's  cousin, 
pulling  on  her  long  gloves.  Then  she  dismissed  the 
subject  abruptly :  "Rose,  if  I  tell  you  something  will 
you  swear  not  to  tell  ?" 

"Never  breathe  it." 

"Captain  Phipps  is  coming  up  to  Baltimore  for 
the  Easter  vacation." 

"Does  your  grandmother  know?" 

"I  should  say  not.  She  's  written  Miss  Hammond 
that  I  'm  not  to  receive  callers  without  permission, 
and  that  all  suspicious  mail  is  to  be  opened." 

"How  outrageous!  You  tell  Captain  Phipps  to 
send  his  letters  to  me ;  I  '11  get  them  to  you.  They  '11 
never  suspect  my  fine  Italian  hand,  with  my  name 
and  address  on  the  envelope." 

Eleanor  looked  at  her  older  cousin  dubiously. 
"I  hate  to  do  underhand  things  like  that!"  she  said 
crossly. 

"You  wouldn't  have  to  if  they  treated  you 
decently.  Opening  your  letters !  The  idea !  I 


QUIN  69 

would  n't  stand  for  it.  I  'd  show  them  a  thing  or 
two." 

Eleanor  stood  listlessly  buttoning  her  glove, 
pondering  what  Rose  was  saying. 

"I  wonder  if  I  could  get  word  to  the  Captain 
to-night?"  she  said.  "Shall  I  really  tell  him  to 
send  the  letters  to  you?" 

"No ;  tell  him  to  bring  them.  I  'm  crazy  to  see 
what  his  nibs  looks  like." 

"He  looks  like  that  picture  of  Richard  Mansfield 
downstairs — the  one  taken  as  Beau  Brummel. 
He  's  the  most  fastidious  man  you  ever  saw,  and 
too  subtle  for  words." 

"He  's  terribly  rich,  is  n't  he?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Eleanor  indifferently.  "His 
father  is  a  Chicago  manufacturer  of  some  kind. 
Does  Papa  Claude  think  he  is  very  talented?" 

"Talented !  He  says  he  's  one  of  the  most  gifted 
young  men  he  ever  met.  They  are  hatching  out 
some  marvelous  schemes  to  write  a  play  together. 
Papa  Claude  is  treading  on  air." 

"Bless  his  heart !  Would  n't  it  be  too  wonderful, 
Rose,  if  Captain  Phipps  should  produce  one  of  his 
plays?  He  's  crazy  about  him." 

"You  mean  he  's  crazy  about  you." 

"Who  said  so?" 

"I  don't  have  to  be  told.  How  about  you,  Nell? 
Are  you  in  love  with  him?" 

Eleanor,  taking  a  farewell  look  in  the  mirror, 


70  QUIN 

saw  a  tiny  frown  gather  between  her  eyebrows.  It 
was  the  second  time  that  week  she  had  been  asked 
the  question,  and,  as  before,  she  avoided  it. 

"Listen!"  she  said.  "Who  is  that  talking  so 
loud  downstairs?" 

Investigation  proved  that  it  was  Cass  and  Quin 
in  hot  dispute,  as  usual.  On  seeing  her  descend  the 
stair  the  latter  promptly  stepped  forward. 

"Cass  is  going  to  let  me  take  you  home,  Miss 
Bartlett." 

"I  never  said  I  would,"  Cass  contradicted  him. 
"I  'm  not  going  to  get  her  into  trouble  the  night 
before  she  goes  away." 

"That 's  for  her  to  decide,"  said  Quin.  "If  she 
says  I  can  go  I  'm  going." 

The  very  novelty  of  being  called  upon  to  decide 
anything  for  herself,  augmented  perhaps  by  the 
ardent  desire  in  his  eyes,  caused  Eleanor  to  tip  the 
scales  in  his  favor. 

"I  don't  mind  his  taking  me  home,"  she  said 
somewhat  condescendingly.  "They  '11  think  it 's 
Cass." 

"All  buck  privates  look  alike  to  them,"  added 
Rose,  laughing. 

"My  private  days  are  over,"  said  Quin  grandly. 
"This  time  next  week  I  '11  be  out  of  my  uniform." 

"You  won't  be  half  so  good-looking,"  said 
Eleanor,  surveying  him  with  such  evident  approval 
that  he  had  a  wild  idea  of  reenlisting  at  once. 


QUIN  71 

"Tell  Papa  Claude  I  could  n't  wait  for  him  any 
longer,"  Eleanor  then  said.  "Kiss  him  good-by  for 
me,  Rose,  and  tell  him  I  '11  write  the  minute  I  get 
to  Baltimore." 

Then  Cass  kissed  her,  and  Rose  and  the  baby 
kissed  her,  and  Myrna  came  downstairs  to  kiss  her, 
and  Edwin  was  called  up  from  the  basement  to  kiss 
her.  It  seemed  the  easiest  and  most  natural  thing 
in  the  world  for  everybody  to  kiss  her  but  Quin, 
who  would  have  given  all  he  had  for  the  privilege. 

At  last  he  found  himself  alone  with  her  in  the 
street,  trying  to  catch  step  and  wondering  whether 
or  not  it  was  proper  to  take  hold  of  a  young  lady's 
elbow.  With  commendable  self-restraint  he  com- 
promised on  street  crossings  and  muddy  places.  It 
was  not  quite  dark  yet,  but  it  was  going  to  be  very 
soon,  and  a  big  pale  moon  was  hiding  behind  a  tall 
chimney,  waiting  for  a  chance  to  pounce  out  on 
unwary  young  couples  who  might  be  venturing 
abroad. 

As  they  started  across  Central  Park,  an  open 
square  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  Eleanor  stopped 
short,  and  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  sky  began  in- 
canting  : 

"Star  light,  star  bright 
Very  first  star  I  see  to-night 
Wish  I  may,  wish  I  might — 
May  these  three  wishes  come  true 
before  to-morrow  night." 


72  QUIN 

"I  have  n't  got  three  wishes,"  said  Quin  solemnly; 
"I  've  only  got  one." 

"Mercy,  I  have  dozens!    Shall  I  lend  you  some?" 

"No!  mine  's  bigger  than  all  yours  put  together." 

She  flashed  a  look  at  him  from  under  her  tilted 
hat-brim : 

"What  on  earth  's  the  matter  with  you  ?  You  look 
so  solemn.  I  don't  believe  you  wanted  to  bring  me 
home,  after  all." 

Quin  did  n't  know  what  was  the  matter  with  him. 
Heretofore  he  had  fallen  in  love  as  a  pebble  falls 
into  a  pond.  There  had  been  a  delicious  splash,  and 
subsequent  encircling  ripples,  each  one  further  away 
than  the  last.  But  this  time  the  pebble  had  fallen 
into  a  whirlpool,  and  was  being  turned  and  tossed 
and  played  with  in  a  manner  wholly  bewildering. 

"Oh,  I  wanted  to  come,  all  right,"  he  said  slowly. 
"I  had  to  come.  Say,  I  wish  you  were  n't  going 
away  to-morrow." 

"So  do  I.     I  'd  give  anything  not  to." 

"But  why  do  you  go,  then?" 

"Because  1  am  always  made  to  do  what  I  don't 
want  to  do." 

Quin,  who  had  decided  views  on  individual  free- 
dom and  the  consent  of  the  governed,  promptly 
espoused  her  cause. 

"They  've  got  no  right  to  force  you.  You  ought 
to  decide  things  for  yourself." 

"Do  you  really  think  that?    Do  you  think  a  girl 


QUIN  73 

has  the  right  to  go  ahead  and  do  as  she  likes,  regard- 
less of  her  family?" 

"That  depends  on  whether  she  wants  to  do  the 
right  thing.  Which  way  do  we  turn?" 

"This  way,  if  we  go  home,"  said  Eleanor.  Then 
she  stopped  abruptly.  "What  time  is  it?" 

Quin  consulted  his  watch  and  his  conscience  at  the 
same  time. 

"It 's  only  five-thirty,"  he  said  eagerly. 

"I  wonder  if  you'd  do  something  for  me?" 

"You  bet  I  will." 

"I  want  to  go  out  to  the  hospital.  I  can  get  out 
there  and  back  in  my  machine  in  thirty  minutes. 
Would  you  be  willing  to  go  with  me  ?" 

Would  he  be  willing?  Two  hours  before  he  had 
sworn  that  no  power  on  earth  could  induce  him  to 
return  to  those  prison  walls,  and  now  he  felt  that 
nothing  could  keep  him  away.  Forty  minutes  of 
bliss  in  that  snug  little  runabout  with  Miss  Bartlett, 
and  the  destination  might  be  Hades  for  all  he  cared. 

It  took  but  a  few  minutes  to  get  to  the  garage  and 
into  the  machine,  and  then  they  were  speeding  out 
the  avenue  at  a  pace  that  would  surely  have  landed 
them  in  the  police  station  had  the  traffic  officer  been 
on  his  job. 

Quin,  doubled  up  like  a  jack-knife  beside  her,  was 
drunk  with  ecstasy.  His  expression  when  he  looked 
at  her  resembled  that  of  a  particularly  maudlin 
Airedale.  Having  her  all  to  himself,  with  nobody 


74  QUIN 

to  interfere,  was  an  almost  overwhelming  joy.  He 
longed  to  pour  out  his  soul  in  gratitude  for  all  that 
she  had  done  for  him  at  the  hospital;  he  burned  to 
tell  her  that  she  was  the  most  beautiful  and  holy 
thing  that  had  ever  come  into  his  life;  but  instead 
he  only  got  his  foot  tangled  in  the  steering  gear, 
and  muttered  something  about  her  "not  driving  a 
car  bad  for  a  girl" ! 

But  Eleanor  was  not  concerned  with  her  com- 
panion or  his  silent  transports.  She  evidently  had 
something  of  importance  on  her  mind. 

"What  time  is  the  officers'  mess?"  she  asked. 

"About  six.    Why?" 

"I  want  to  catch  Captain  Phipps  before  he  leaves 
the  hospital." 

Quin's  glowing  bubble  burst  at  the  word.  She 
ivas  Captain  Phipps'  girl,  after  all !  She  had  simply 
pressed  him  into  service  in  order  to  get  a  last  inter- 
view with  the  one  officer  in  the  battalion  for  whom 
he  had  no  respect. 

The  guard  challenged  them  as  they  swung  into  the 
hospital  area,  but,  seeing  Quin's  uniform,  allowed 
them  to  enter.  Past  the  long  line  of  contagious 
wards,  past  the  bleak  two-story  convalescent  bar- 
racks, and  up  to  the  officers'  quarters  they  swept. 

"You  are  not  going  in  yourself?"  Quin  protested, 
as  she  started  to  get  out  of  the  car. 

"Why  not  ?  Have  n't  I  been  coming  out  here  all 
the  time?" 


QUIN  75 

"Not  at  night — not  like  this." 

"Nonsense.  What 's  the  harm  ?  I  '11  only  be  a 
minute?" 

But  Quin  had  already  got  out,  and  was  holding 
the  door  with  a  large,  firm  hand. 

"No,"  he  said  humbly  but  positively;  "I  '11  go  and 
bring  him  out  here." 

The  unexpected  note  of  authority  in  his  voice 
nettled  her  instantly. 

"I  shall  go  myself,"  she  insisted  petulantly. 
"Let  me  out." 

For  a  moment  their  eyes  clashed  in  frank  com- 
bat, hers  angry  and  defiant,  his  adoring  but  deter- 
mined. 

"Listen  here,  Miss  Bartlett,"  he  urged.  "The 
men  would  n't  understand  your  coming  out  like 
this,  at  night,  without  your  uniform.  I  told  Cass 
I  'd  take  care  of  you,  and  I  'm  going  to  do  it." 

"You  mean  that  you  will  dare  to  stop  me  from 
getting  out  of  my  own  car?  Take  your  hand  off 
that  door  instantly!" 

She  actually  seized  his  big,  strong  fingers  with 
her  small  gloved  ones  and  tried  to  pull  them  away 
from  the  door.  But  Quin  began  to  laugh,  and  in 
spite  of  herself  she  laughed  back;  and,  while  the 
two  were  childishly  struggling  for  the  possession  of 
the  door-handle,  Captain  Phipps  all  unnoticed  passed 
out  of  the  mess-hall,  gave  a  few  instructions  to  his 
waiting  orderly,  and  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  7 

BY  the  time  they  were  on  their  way  home,  the 
moon,  no  longer  dodging  behind  chimneys, 
had  swaggered  into  the  open.  It  was  a  hardened 
old  highwayman  of  a  moon,  red  in  the  face  and 
very  full,  and  it  declared  with  every  flashing  beam 
that  it  was  no  respecter  of  persons,  and  that  it 
intended  doing  all  the  mischief  possible  down  there 
in  the  little  world  of  men. 

Miss  Eleanor  Bartlett  was  its  first  victim.  In 
the  white  twilight  she  forgot  the  social  gap  that  lay 
between  her  and  the  youth  beside  her.  She  ceased 
to  observe  the  size  and  roughness  of  his  hands, 
but  noted  instead  the  fine  breadth  of  his  shoulders. 
She  concerned  herself  no  longer  with  his  verbal 
lapses,  but  responded  instead  to  his  glowing  confi- 
dence that  everybody  was  as  sincere  and  well  inten- 
tioned  as  himself.  She  discovered  what  the  more 
sophisticated  Rose  had  perceived  at  once — that 
Quinby  Graham  "had  a  way  with  him,"  a  beguiling, 
sympathetic  way  that  made  one  tell  him  things  that 
one  really  did  n't  mean  to  tell  any  one.  Of  course, 
it  was  partly  due  to  the  fact  that  he  asked  such  out- 
rageously direct  questions,  questions  that  no  one  in 

76 


QUIN  77 

her  mast  intimate  circle  of  friends  would  dare  to 
ask.  And  the  queer  part  of  it  was  that  she  was 
answering  them. 

Before  she  realized  it  she  was  launched  on  a  full 
recital  of  her  woes,  her  thwarted  ambition  to  go 
on  the  stage,  her  grandmother's  tyranny,  the  indig- 
nity of  being  sent  back  to  a  school  from  which  she 
had  run  away  six  months  before.  She  flattered 
herself  that  she  was  stating  her  case  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  getting  an  unprejudiced  outsider's  unbi- 
ased opinion;  but  from  the  inflection  of  her  voice 
and  the  expressive  play  of  eyes  and  lips  it  was 
evident  that  she  was  deriving  some  pleasure  from 
the  mere  act  of  thus  dramatizing  her  woes  before 
that  wholly  sympathetic  audience  of  one. 

It  was  not  until  they  reached  the  Eastern  Park- 
way and  were  speeding  toward  the  twinkling  lights 
of  the  city  that  their  little  bubble  of  intimacy,  blown 
in  the  moonlight,  was  shattered  by  a  word. 

"Say,  Miss  Eleanor,"  Quin  blurted  out  unex- 
pectedly, "do  you  like  me?" 

The  question,  together  with  the  fact  that  he  had 
dared  used  her  first  name,  brought  her  up  with  a 
start. 

"Like  you?"  she  repeated  in  her  most  conven- 
tional tone.  "Why,  of  course.  Whatever  made  you 
think  I  didn't?" 

"I    did  n't   think   that.      But — do   you   like   me 


78  QUIN 

enough  to  let  me  come  to  see  you  when  you  come 
back?" 

Now,  a  romantically  wounded  hero  receiving 
favors  in  a  hospital  is  one  thing,  and  an  unknown 
discharged  soldier  asking  them  is  quite  another. 
The  very  thought  of  Quinby  Graham  presenting 
himself  as  a  caller,  and  the  comments  that  would 
follow  made  Eleanor  shy  away  from  the  subject  in 
alarm. 

"Oh,  you  '11  be  on  the  other  side  of  the  world 
by  the  time  I  get  back,"  she  said  lightly. 

"Not  me.  Not  if  there  's  a  chance  of  seeing  you 
again." 

A  momentary  diversion  followed,  during  which 
Eleanor  fancied  there  was  something  wrong  with 
the  radiator  and  expatiated  at  length  on  her  prefer- 
ence for  air-cooled  cars. 

Quin  listened  patiently.  A  gentleman  more 
versed  in  social  subtleties  would  have  accepted  the 
hint  and  said  no  more.  But  he  was  still  laboring 
under  the  error  that  language  was  invented  to  reveal 
rather  than  to  conceal  thought. 

"You  did  n't  answer  my  question,"  he  said,  when 
Eleanor  paused  for  breath. 

"What  question?" 

"About  my  coming  to  see  you." 

She  took  shelter  in  a  subterfuge. 

"I  told  you  that  the  family  was  horrid  to  every- 


QUIN  79 

body  that  came  to  see  me.  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  don't  think  you  would  be  comfortable." 

"I  'm  not  afraid  of  'em/'  Quin  insisted  fatu- 
ously. "I  'd  butt  in  anywhere  to  get  to  see  you." 

Eleanor's  eyes  dropped  under  his  gaze. 

"You  don't  know  my  grandmother,"  she  said; 
"and,  what  is  much  more  important,  she  does  n't 
know  you." 

"No,  but  she  might  like  to,"  urged  Quin,  with 
one  of  his  most  engaging  smiles.  "Old  ladies  and 
cats  always  cotton  to  me." 

Eleanor  laughed.  It  was  impossible  to  be  dig- 
nified and  superior  with  a  person  who  did  n't  know 
the  first  rules  of  the  game. 

"She  might,"  she  admitted;  "you  never  can  tell 
about  grandmother.  She  really  is  a  wonderful 
person  in  many  ways,  and  just  as  generous  and 
kind  when  you  are  in  trouble!  But  she  says  the 
most  dreadful  things ;  she  's  always  hurting  people's 
feelings." 

"She  couldn't  hurt  mine,  unless  I  let  her,"  said 
Quin. 

"Oh,  yes,  she  could — you  don't  know  her.  But 
even  if  she  happened  to  be  nice  to  you,  there  's  Aunt 
Isobel." 

"What  is  she  like?" 

"Horribly  good  and  conscientious,  and  shocked 
to  death  at  everything  people  do  and  say.  I  don't 
mean  that  she  is  n't  awfully  kind.  She  '11  do  any- 


8o  QUIN 

thing  for  you  if  you  are  sick.  But  Uncle  Ranny 
says  her  sense  of  duty  amounts  to  a  vice.  Whatever 
she  's  doing,  she  thinks  she  ought  to  be  doing  some- 
thing else.  And  she  expects  you  to  be  just  as  good 
as  she  is.  If  she  knew  I  was  out  here  with  a  strange 
man  to  whom  I  'd  never  been  introduced " 

Eleanor  was  appalled  at  the  effect  upon  her  aunt 
of  such  indiscretion. 

"Oh,  I  could  handle  her  all  right,"  said  Quin 
boastfully.  "I  'd  talk  foreign  missions  to  her. 
Any  others  ?" 

"Heaps.  There  's  Aunt  Flo  and  Uncle  Ranny. 
He 's  a  dear,  only  he 's  the  black  sheep  of  the 
family.  He  says  I  am  a  promising  gray  lamb,  which 
makes  grandmother  furious.  They  all  let  her  twist 
them  round  her  finger  but  me.  I  won't  twist.  I 
never  intend  to." 

"Is  that  all  the  family?" 

"No ;  there 's  Aunt  Enid.  She  is  the  nicest  of 
them  all." 

"What  is  her  line?" 

"Oh,  she  's  awfully  good,  too.  But  she  's  different 
from  Aunt  Isobel.  She  was  engaged  to  be  married 
once,  and  grandmother  broke  it  off  because  the  man 
was  poor.  I  don't  think  she  '11  ever  get  over  it." 

"Do  you  think  she  would  like  me?"  Quin  anx- 
iously inquired. 

"Yes,"  admitted  Eleanor,  "I  believe  she  would. 
She  simply  adores  to  mold  people.  She  does  n't 


QUIN  81 

care  how  many  faults  they  have,  if  they  will  just 
'  let  her  influence  them  to  be  better.  And  she  does 
help  loads  of  people.  I  am  her  one  failure.  She 
would  n't  acknowledge  it  for  the  world,  but  I  know 
that  I  am  the  disappointment  of  Aunt  Enid's  life." 

She  gazed  gloomily  down  the  long  moonlit  road 
and  lapsed  into  one  of  her  sudden  abstractions.  A 
belated  compunction  seized  her  for  not  going 
straight  home  from  the  Martels',  for  being  late  for 
dinner  on  her  last  night,  for  going  on  with  her 
affair  with  Captain  Phipps,  when  she  had  been  for- 
bidden to  see  him. 

"Miss  Nell,"  said  the  persistent  voice  beside  her, 
"do  you  know  what  I  intend  to  do  while  you  are 
away?" 

"No;  what?" 

"I  'm  going  to  start  in  to-morrow  morning  and 
make  love  to  your  whole  darn  family !" 

Now,  if  there  is  one  thing  Destiny  admires  in  a 
man,  it  is  his  courage  to  defy  her.  She  relentlessly 
crushes  the  supine  spirit  who  acquiesces,  but  to  him 
who  snaps  his  ringers  in  her  face  she  often  extends 
a  helping  hand.  In  this  case  she  did  not  make  Quin 
wait  until  the  morrow  to  begin  his  colossal  under- 
taking. By  means  of  a  humble  tack  that  lay  in  the 
way  of  the  speeding  automobile,  she  at  once  set  in 
motion  the  series  of  events  that  were  to  determine 
his  future  life. 

By  the  time  the  puncture  was  repaired  and  they 


82  QUIN 

were  again  on  their  way,  it  was  half -past  seven 
and  all  hope  of  a  timely  arrival  was  abandoned.  As 
they  slowed  up  at  the  Bartlett  house,  their  uneasi- 
ness was  increased  by  the  fact  that  lights  were 
streaming  from  every  window  and  the  front  door 
was  standing  open. 

"Is  that  the  doctor?"  an  excited  voice  called  to 
them  from  the  porch. 

"No,"  called  back  Eleanor,  scrambling  out  of 
the  car.  "What  is  the  matter?" 

No  answer  being  received,  she  clutched  Quin's 
sleeve  nervously. 

"Something  has  happened!  Look,  the  front  hall 
is  full  of  people.  Oh,  I  'm  afraid  to  go  in !  I " 

"Steady  on!"  said  Quin,  with  a  firm  grip  on  her 
elbow  as  he  marched  her  up  the  steps  and  into  the 
hall. 

Everything  was  in  confusion.  People  were  hurry- 
ing to  and  fro,  doors  were  slamming,  excited  voices 
were  asking  questions  and  not  waiting  for  answers. 
"What's  Dr.  Snowden's  telephone  number?" 
"Can't  they  get  another  doctor?"  "Has  somebody 
sent  for  Randolph?"  "Are  they  going  to  try  to 
move  her?"  everybody  demanded  of  everybody  else. 

Eleanor  pushed  through  the  crowd  until  she 
reached  the  foot  of  the  steps..  There,  lying  on  the 
floor,  with  her  towering  white  pompadour  crushed 
ignominiously  against  the  newel-post,  lay  the  one 
person  in  the  house  who  could  have  brought  prompt 


QUIN  83 

order  out  of  the  chaos.  On  one  side  of  her  knelt 
Miss  Enid  frantically  applying  smelling  salts,  while 
on  the  other  stood  Miss  Isobel  futilely  wringing  her 
hands  and  imploring  some  one  to  go  for  a  minister. 

Suddenly  the  buzz  of  excited  talk  ceased.  Madam 
was  returning  to  consciousness.  She  groaned 
heavily,  then  opened  one  eye. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  demanded  feebly. 
"What's  all  this  fuss  about?" 

"You  fell  down  the  steps,  mother.  Don't  get 
excited;  don't  try  to  move." 

But  Madam  had  already  tried,  with  the  result 
that  she  fell  back  with  a  sharp  cry  of  pain. 

"Oh,  my  leg,  my  leg!"  she  groaned.  "What  are 
you  all  standing  around  like  fools  for?  Why  don't 
you  send  Tom  for  the  doctor?" 

"Tom  is  n't  with  us  any  more,  dearest,"  said 
Aunt  Enid  with  trembling  reassurance,  "and  Dr. 
Snowden  is  out  of  town.  But  we  are  trying  to  get 
Dr.  Bean." 

"I  won't  have  Bean,"  Madam  declared,  clinching 
her  jaw  with  pain.  "I  '11  send  him  away  if  he 
comes." 

"Dr.  Vaughn,  then?"  suggested  Miss  Enid  ten- 
derly. 

"Vaughn  nothing !  Send  for  Rawlins.  He  's  an 
old  stick,  but  he  '11  do  till  Dr.  Snowden  gets  here." 

"But,    mother,"    protested    Miss    Isobel.      "Dr. 


84  QUIN 

Rawlins  lives  in  the  country;  he  can't  get  here  for 
half  an  hour." 

"Do  as  I  tell  you  and  stop  arguing,"  commanded 
Madam.  "Has  anybody  telephoned  Ranny?" 

The  two  sisters  exchanged  significant  glances. 

"Their  line  is  busy,"  said  Miss  Enid  soothingly. 
"We  will  get  him  soon." 

"I  want  to  be  taken  upstairs,"  announced  Madam ; 
"I  want  to  be  put  in  my  own  bed." 

A  buzz  of  protest  met  this  suggestion,  and  a 
small,  nervous  man  in  clerical  garb,  who  had  just 
arrived,  came  forward  to  add  his  voice  to  the  rest. 

Madam  glared  at  him  savagely.  "There  '11  be 
plenty  of  time  for  parsons  when  the  doctors  get 
through  with  me,"  she  said.  "Tell  some  of  those 
able-bodied  men  back  there  to  come  here  and  take 
me  upstairs." 

Quin,  who  had  been  standing  in  the  background 
looking  down  at  the  formidable  old  lady,  promptly 
came  forward. 

"I  '11  take  you  up,"  he  said.    "Which  leg  is  hurt?" 

The  old  lady  turned  her  head  and  looked  up  at 
him.  The  note  of  confidence  in  his  voice  had  evi- 
dently appealed  to  her. 

"It 's  my  left  leg.  I  think  it 's  broken  just  above 
the  knee." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  put  a  splint  on  it?" 

"Are  you  a  doctor  ?" 

"No,  ma'am ;  but  I  can  fix  it  so  's  it  won't  hurt 


QUIN  85 

\ 
you  so  bad  when  we  move  you,"   Quin  replied. 

"How  do  you  know  you  can?" 

Quin  ran  his  ringers  through  his  hair  and  smiled. 

"Well,  I  was  n't  with  the  Ambulance  Corps  for 
six  months  in  France  for  nothing." 

Madam  eyed  him  keenly  for  a  moment ;  then,  "Go 
ahead,"  she  commanded. 

A  chorus  of  protests  from  the  surrounding  group 
only  deepened  her  determination. 

"It 's  my  leg,"  she  said  irritably.  "If  he  knows 
how  to  splint  it,  let  him  do  it.  I  want  to  be  taken 
upstairs." 

It  is  difficult  enough  to  apply  a  splint  properly 
under  favorable  circumstances;  but  when  one  has 
only  an  umbrella  and  table  napkins  to  work  with, 
and  is  hemmed  in  by  a  doubtful  and  at  times  protest- 
ing audience,  it  becomes  well-nigh  impossible. 

Quin  worked  slowly  and  awkwardly,  putting  the 
bones  as  nearly  as  possible  in  position  and  then 
binding  them  firmly  in  place.  He  paid  no  more 
attention  to  the  agitated  comments  of  those  about 
him  than  he  had  paid  to  the  whizzing  bullets  when 
he  rendered  first  aid  to  a  fallen  comrade  in  No 
Man's  Land. 

During  the  painful  operation  Madam  lay  with 
rigid  jaws  and  clenched  fists.  Small  beads  of  per- 
spiration gathered  on  her  forehead  and  her  lips  were 
white.  Now  and  then  she  flinched  violently,  but  only 
once  did  she  speak,  and  that  was  when  Miss  Enid 


86  QUIN 

held  the  smelling  salts  too  close  to  her  high-bridged 
nose. 

"Haven't  I  got  enough  to  stand  without  that?" 
she  sputtered,  knocking  the  bottle  into  the  air  and 
sending  the  contents  flying  over  the  polished  floor. 

When  Quin  finished  he  looked  at  her  with  frank 
admiration. 

"You  got  nerve,  all  right,"  he  said;  then  he 
added  gently:  "Don't  you  worry  about  getting  up- 
stairs; it  won't  hurt  you  much  now." 

"You  stay  and  help,"  said  Madam  peremptorily. 

"Sure,"  said  Quin. 

It  was  not  until  she  was  in  her  own  bed,  and  word 
had  come  that  Dr.  Rawlins  was  on  his  way,  that  she 
would  let  Quin  go,  and  even  then  she  called  him 
back. 

"You !  Soldier !  Come  here,"  was  the  faint  edict 
from  the  canopied  bed.  She  was  getting  very  weak 
from  the  pain,  and  her  words  came  in  gasps.  "Do 
you  know  where — the — Aristo  Apartments  are?" 

"No,  but  I  can  find  out,"  said  Quin. 

"I  want  you — to — go  for  my  son — Mr.  Randolph 
Bartlett.  If  he  's  not  at  home — you  find  him.  I  '11 
make  it — worth  your  while." 

"I  '11  find  him,"  Quin  said,  with  a  reassuring  pat 
on  her  wrinkled  hand. 

As  he  went  into  the  hall,  Eleanor  slipped  out  of 
the  adjoining  room  and  followed  him  silently  down 
the  stairs.  She  did  not  speak  until  they  were  at 


QUIN  87 

the  front  door,  and  even  then  took  the  precaution  of 
stepping  outside. 

"I  just  wanted  to  come  down  and  say  good-by," 
she  said, 

"But  you  surely  won't  be  going  now?"  said  Quin 
hopefully. 

"Yes,  I  'm  to  go.  Grandmother  has  just  told  Aunt 
Isobel  that  everything  is  to  be  carried  out  exactly 
as  she  planned  it.  But  I  wish  they  'd  let  me  stay 
and  help.  Poor  granny!" 

Her  eyes  brimmed  with  ready  tears. 

"She'll  pull  through  all  right,"  said  Quin,  to 
whom  the  tear-dimmed  eyes  of  youth  were  more 
unnerving  than  age's  broken  bones.  "Don't  worry, 
Miss  Eleanor,  please.  What  time  does  your  train 
go  in  the  morning?" 

"Ten-thirty." 

"I  '11  be  there  at  ten." 

Eleanor  brushed  her  tears  away  quickly.  "No, 
no — you  must  n't,"  she  said  in  quick  alarm.  "They 
don't  know  that  we  ever  saw  each  other  before. 
They  think  you  just  happened  to  be  passing  and  ran 
in  to  help.  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  give  them  any  more 
trouble.  Promise  me  not  to  come!" 

"Well,  when  you  come  back,  then?" 

"Yes,  yes,  when  I  come  back,"  she  whispered 
hurriedly.  Then  she  put  out  her  hand  impulsively. 
"I  think  you  've  been  perfectly  splendid  to-night. 
Good-by." 


88  QUIN 

For  a  moment  she  stood  there,  her  dainty  figure 
silhouetted  against  the  bright  doorway,  with  the 
light  shining  through  her  soft  hair  giving  her  an 
undeserved  halo.  Then  she  was  gone,  leaving  him 
on  the  steps  in  the  moonlight,  tenderly  contemplat- 
ing the  hand  that  had  just  held  hers. 


CHAPTER  8 

IT  was  well  that  Quin  had  an  errand  to  perform 
that  night.  His  emotions,  which  had  been 
accumulating  compound  interest  since  five  o'clock, 
demanded  an  outlet  in  immediate  action.  He  had 
not  the  faintest  idea  where  the  Aristo  Apartments 
might  be ;  but,  wherever  they  were,  he  meant  to  find 
them.  Consultation  with  a  telephone  book  at  the 
corner  drug-store  sent  him  across  the  city  to  a 
newer  and  more  fashionable  residence  quarter.  As 
he  left  the  street-car  at  the  corner  indicated,  he 
asked  a  man  who  was  just  dismounting  from  a  taxi- 
cab  for  further  information. 

When  the  dapper  gentleman,  thus  addressed, 
turned  toward  him,  it  was  evident  that  he  had  dined 
not  wisely  but  too  well.  He  was  at  that  mellow 
stage  that  radiates  affection,  and,  having  bidden  a 
loving  farewell  to  the  taxi  driver,  he  now  linked  his 
arm  in  Quin's  and  repeated  gaily: 

"  'Risto?  Of  course  I  can  find  it  for  you,  if  it 's 
where  it  was  this  morning!  Always  make  a  point 
of  helping  a  man  that 's  worse  off  than  I  am. 
Always  help  a  sholdier,  anyhow.  Take  my  arm, 
old  chap.  Take  my  cane,  too.  I  '11  help  you." 

89 


90  QUIN 

Thus  assisted  and  assisting,  Quin  good-humoredly 
allowed  himself  to  be  conducted  in  a  zigzag  course  to 
the  imposing  doorway  of  a  large  apartment-house 
across  the  street. 

"Forgive  me  f '  taking  you  up  stairway,"  apolo- 
gized the  affable  gentleman.  "Must  n't  let  elevator 
boy  see  you  in  this  condishun.  Take  you  up  to  my 
apartment.  Put  you  bed  in  m'  own  room.  Got  to 
take  care  sholdiers." 

At  the  second  floor  Quin  tried  to  disentangle  him- 
self from  his  new-found  protector. 

"You  can  find  your  way  home  now,  partner,"  he 
said.  "I  got  to  go  down  and  find  out  which  floor  my 
party  lives  on." 

But  his  companion  held  him  tight. 

"No,  my  boy!  Mustn't  go  out  again  to-night. 
M.P.'s  '11  catch  you.  I  '11  get  you  to  bed  without 
anybody  knowing.  Must  n't  'sturb  my  wife, 
though.  Must  n't  make  any  noise."  And,  adding 
force  to  persuasion,  he  got  his  arms  around  Quin 
and  backed  him  so  suddenly  against  the  wall  that 
they  both  took  an  unexpected  seat  on  the  floor. 

At  this  inopportune  moment  a  door  opened  and 
a  delicate  blonde  lady  in  a  pink  kimono,  followed 
by  an  inquisitive  poodle,  peered  anxiously  out. 

" 'S  perfectly  all  right,  darling!"  reassured  the 
nethermost  figure  blithely.  "Sholdier  friend  's  had 
a  little  too  much  champagne.  Bringing  him  in  so  's 


QUIN  91 

won't  be  'rested,  Nicest  kind  of  chap,  Perfectly 
harmless !" 

Quin  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  exchanged  an 
understanding  look  with  the  lady  in  the  doorway. 

"I  found  him  down  at  the  corner.  Does  he 
belong  here?"  he  asked.  And,  upon  being  informed 
sorrowfully  that  he  did,  he  added  obligingly,  "Don't 
you  want  me  to  bring  him  in  for  you?" 

"Will  you?"  said  the  lady  in  grateful  agitation. 
"The  maids  are  both  out,  and  I  can't  handle  him 
by  myself.  [Would  you  mind  bringing  him  into  his 
bedroom  ?" 

Quin  succeeded  in  detaching  an  affectionate  arm 
from  his  right  leg  and,  getting  his  patient  up, 
piloted  him  into  the  apartment. 

"I  'd  just  as  leave  put  him  to  bed  for  you  if  you 
like?"  he  offered,  noting  the  nervousness  of  the 
lady,  who  was  fluttering  about  like  a  distracted 
butterfly. 

"Oh,  would  you?"  she  asked.  "It  would  help  me 
immensely.  If  he  is  n't  put  to  bed  he  is  sure  to  want 
to  go  out  again." 

"Shure  to!"  heartily  agreed  the  object  of  their 
solicitude.  "Leave  him  to  me,  darling.  I  '11  hide 
his  uniform  so  's  he  can't  go  out.  Be  a  good  girl> 
run  along — I  '11  take  care  of  him." 

Thus  left  to  each  other,  a  satisfactory  compromise 
was  effected  by  which  the  host  agreed  to  be 
undressed  and  put  to  bed,  provided  Quin  would  later 


92  QUIN 

submit  to  the  same  treatment.  It  was  not  the  first 
time  Quin  had  thus  assisted  a  brother  in  misfor- 
tune, but  he  had  never  before  had  to  do  with  gold 
buttons  and  jeweled  cuff-links,  to  say  nothing  of  silk 
underwear  and  sky-blue  pajamas.  Being  on  the 
eve  of  adopting  civilian  clothes  for  the  first  time 
in  two  years,  he  took  a  lively  interest  in  every  detail 
of  his  patient's  attire,  from  the  modish  cut  of  his 
coat  to  the  smart  pattern  of  his  necktie. 

The  bibulous  one,  who  up  to  the  present  had 
regarded  the  affair  as  humorous,  now  began  to  be 
lachrymose,  and  by  the  time  Quin  got  him  into  the 
rose-draped  bed  he  was  in  a  state  of  deep  dejection. 

"My  mother  loves  me,"  he  assured  Quin  tear- 
fully. "Gives  me  everything.  I  don't  mean  to  be 
ungrateful.  But  I  can't  go  on  in  the  firm.  Bangs 
is  dishonest,  but  she  won't  believe  it.  She  thinks 
I  don't  know.  They  both  think  I  'm  a  cipher.  I  am 
a  cipher.  But  they  've  made  me  one.  Get  so  dis- 
couraged, then  go  break  over  like  this.  Promised 
Flo  never  would  take  another  drink.  But  it 's  no 
use.  Can't  help  myself.  I  'm  done  for.  Just  a 
cipher,  a  cipher,  a  ci " 

Quin  standing  by  the  bed  waiting  for  him  to  get 
through  adding  noughts  to  his  opinion  of  himself, 
suddenly  leaned  forward  and  examined  the  picture 
that  hung  above  the  table.  It  was  of  an  imperial 
old  lady  in  black  velvet,  with  a  string  of  pearls 
about  her  throat  and  a  tiara  on  her  towering  white 


QUIN  93 

pompadour.  His  glance  swept  from  the  photograph 
to  the  flushed  face  with  the  tragic  eyes  on  the  pillow, 
and  he  seemed  to  hear  a  querulous  old  voice  repeat- 
ing: "Ranny — I  want  Ranny.  Why  don't  they 
send  for  Ranny?" 

With  two  strides  he  was  at  the  door. 

"Are  you  Mrs.  Randolph  Bartlett?"  he  asked  of 
the  lady  who  was  nervously  pacing  the  hall. 

"Yes;  why?" 

"Because  they  sent  me  after  him.  It 's  his 
mother,  you  see — she  's  hurt." 

"Madam  Bartlett?    What's  happened?" 

"She  fell  down  the  steps  and  broke  her  leg." 

"How  terrible!  But  she  mustn't  know  about 
him,"  cried  Mrs.  Ranny  in  instant  alarm.  "It  always 
makes  her  furious  when  he  breaks  over;  and  yet, 
she  is  to  blame — she  drives  him  to  it." 

"How  do  you  mean?"  asked  Quin,  plunging  into 
the  situation  with  his  usual  temerity. 

"I  mean  that  she  has  dominated  him,  soul  and 
body,  ever  since  he  was  born!"  cried  Mrs.  Ranny 
passionately.  "She  has  forced  him  to  stay  in  the 
business  when  every  detail  of  it  is  distasteful  to 
him.  His  life  is  a  perfect  hell  there  under  Mr. 
Bangs.  He  ought  to  have  an  outdoor  life.  He  loves 
animals — he  ought  to  be  on  a  ranch."  She  pulled 
herself  up  with  an  effort.  "Forgive  me  for  going 
into  all  this  before  a  stranger,  but  I  am  almost 
beside  myself.  Of  course  I  am  sorry  for  Madam 


94  QUIN 

Bartlett,  but  what  can  I  do  ?  You  can  see  for  your- 
self that  my  husband  is  in  no  condition  to  go  to 
her." 

"Can't  you  say  he  's  sick?" 

"She  would  n't  believe  it.  She  's  suspicious  of 
everything  I  do  and  say.  Do  you  have  to  take  back 
an  answer?" 

"I  told  the  old  lady  I  'd  find  him  for  her.  You 
see,  I  'm  a — sort  of  a  friend  of  Miss  Eleanor's." 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  Mrs.  Ranny  would 
have  been  the  last  to  accept  this  without  an  explana- 
tion ;  but  there  were  too  many  other  problems  press- 
ing for  her  to  worry  about  this  one. 

"I  wonder  how  it  would  do,"  she  said,  "for  you 
to  telephone  that  we  are  both  out  of  town  for  the 
night,  spending  the  week-end  in  the  country?" 

"I  guess  one  lie  is  as  good  as  another,"  said  Quin 
ruefully.  He  was  getting  involved  deeper  than  he 
liked,  but  there  seemed  no  other  way  out.  "I  '11 
telephone  from  the  drug-store.  Anything  else  I 
can  do  for  you?" 

"You  have  been  so  kind,  I  hate  to  ask  another 
favor." 

"Let 's  have  it,"  said  Quin. 

"Would  you  by  any  chance  have  time  to  leave  a 
package  of  papers  at  Bartlett  &  Bangs'  for  me  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning?  Mr.  Bangs  has  been 
telephoning  me  about  them  all  day,  and  I  've  been 


QUIN  93 

nearly  distracted,  because  my  husband  had  them  in 
his  pocket  and  I  did  not  know  where  he  was." 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Quin,  going  back  into  the 
bedroom.  "Are  these  the  ones  ?" 

"Yes.  They  must  be  very  important ;  that 's  why 
I  am  afraid  to  intrust  them  to  my  maid.  Be  sure 
to  take  them  to  Mr.  Bangs  himself,  and  if  he  asks 

any  questions "  She  caught  her  trembling  lip 

between  her  teeth  and  tried  to  force  back  the  tears. 

"Don't  you  worry!"  cried  Quin.  "I'll  make  it 
all  right  with  him.  You  drink  a  glass  of  hot  milk 
or  something,  and  go  to  bed." 

She  looked  up  at  him  gratefully.  "I  don't  know 
your  name,"  she  said,  "but  I  certainly  appreciate 
your  kindness  to  me  to-night.  I  wish  you  would 
come  back  some  time  and  let  us  thank  you " 

"Oh,  that 's  all  o.k.,"  said  Quin,  turning  to  the 
door  in  sudden  embarrassment.  Then  he  discovered 
that  he  was  trying  to  shake  hands  and  hold  his  cap 
with  the  same  hand,  and  in  his  confusion  he  slipped 
on  the  hard- wood  floor,  and  achieved  an  exit  that 
was  scarcely  more  dignified  than  his  entrance  a  half- 
hour  before. 


CHAPTER  9 

THE  news  that  Quin  had  broken  through  the 
Bartlett  barrage  afforded  great  amusement  to 
the  Martels  at  breakfast  next  morning.  Of  course 
they  were  sympathetic  over  Madam  Bartlett's  acci- 
dent— the  Martels'  sympathy  was  always  on  tap  for 
friend  or  foe, — but  that  did  not  interfere  with  a 
frank  enjoyment  of  Quin's  spirited  account  of  her 
high-handed  treatment  of  the  family,  especially  the 
incident  of  the  smelling  salts. 

"She  ought  to  belong  to  the  Tank  Brigade,"  said 
Rose.  "  'Treat  'em  rough'  is  her  motto." 

"I  like  the  old  girl,  though,"  said  Quin  disre- 
spectfully, "she  's  got  so  much  pep.  And  talk  about 
your  nerve!  You  should  have  seen  her  set  her  jaw 
when  I  put  the  splint  on!" 

"Is  the  house  very  grand?"  asked  Myrna,  hun- 
gering for  luxurious  details. 

"No,"  Cass  broke  in  scornfully.  "I  been  in  the 
hall  twice.  It  looks  like  a  museum — big  pictures  and 
statuary,  and  everything  dark  and  gloomy." 

"Yes,  and  Miss  Isobel  and  Miss  Enid  are  the 

mummies,"  added  Rose.    "The  only  nice  one  in  the 

96 


QUIN  97 

bunch  besides  Nell  is  Mr.  Ranny,  and  he  is  hardly 
ever  sober." 

"Well,  I  would  n't  be,  either,"  said  Cass,  "if  I  'd 
been  held  down  like  he  has  all  his  life.  The  Bart- 
lett  estate  was  left  in  trust  to  the  old  lady,  and  she 
holds  the  purse-strings  and  has  the  say-so  about 
everything." 

Quin  refrained  from  mentioning  the  fact  that  he 
had  also  met  Mr.  Ranny.  It  was  a  point  to  his 
credit,  for  the  story  would  have  been  received  with 
hilarity,  and  he  particularly  enjoyed  making  Rose 
laugh. 

The  entrance  of  Mr.  Martel  put  an  end  to  the 
discussion  of  the  Bartletts.  Bitter  as  was  his  ani- 
mosity toward  the  old  lady,  he  would  permit  no 
disrespect  to  be  shown  her  or  hers  in  his  presence. 
In  the  garish  light  of  day  he  looked  a  trifle  less 
imposing  than  he  had  on  New  Year's  eve  in  the  fire- 
light. His  long  white  hair  hung  straight  and  dry 
about  his  face;  baggy  wrinkles  sagged  under  his 
eyes  and  under  his  chin.  The  shoulders  that  once 
proudly  carried  Mark  Antony's  shining  armor  now 
supported  a  faded  velvet  breakfast  .jacket  that 
showed  its  original  color  only  in  patches.  But  even 
in  the  intimacy  of  the  breakfast  hour  Papa  Claude 
preserved  his  air  of  distinction,  the  gracious  conde- 
scension of  a  temporary  sojourner  in  an  environment 
from  which  he  expected  at  any  moment  to  take 
flight. 


98  QUIN 

When  Cass  had  gone  to  work  and  the  girls  were 
busy  cleaning  up  the  breakfast  dishes,  he  linked  his 
arm  in  Quin's  and  drew  him  into  the  living-room. 

"I  have  never  allowed  myself  to  submit  to  the 
tyranny  of  time!"  he  said.  "The  wine  of  living 
should  be  tasted  slowly.  Pull  up  a  chair,  my  boy; 
I  want  to  talk  to  you.  You  don't  happen  to  have 
a  cigar  about  you,  do  you?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Here  are  two.  Take  'em  both.  I  got 
to  cut  out  smoking;  it  makes  me  cough." 

Mr.  Martel,  protesting  and  accepting  at  the  same 
time,  sank  into  his  large  chair  and  bade  Quin  pull 
up  a  rocker.  In  the  Martels'  living-room  all  the 
chairs  were  rockers;  so,  in  fact,  were  the  table  and 
the  sofa,  owing  to  missing  castors. 

"I  am  going  to  talk  to  you  quite  confidentially," 
began  Mr.  Martel,  giving  himself  up  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  hour.  "I  am  going  to  tell  you  of  a  new 
and  fascinating  adventure  upon  which  I  am  about 
to  embark.  You  have  doubtless  heard  me  speak  of 
a  very  wealthy  and  talented  young  friend  of  mine — 
Mr.  Harold  Phipps?" 

Quin  admitted  without  enthusiasm  that  he  had, 
and  that  he  also  knew  him. 

"Well,  Mr.  Phipps, — or  Captain,  as  you  probably 
know  him, — after  a  short  medical  career  has  found 
it  so  totally  distasteful  that  he  is  wisely  returning 
to  an  earlier  love.  As  soon  as  he  gets  out  of  the 
army  he  and  I  are  going  to  collaborate  on  a  play. 


QUIN  99 

Of  course  I  have  technic  at  my  finger-tips.  Con- 
struction, dramatic  suspense,  climax  are  second 
nature  to  me.  But  I  confess  I  have  a  fatal  handi- 
cap, one  that  has  doubtless  cost  me  my  place  at  the 
head  of  American  dramatists  to-day.  I  have  never 
been  able  to  achieve  colloquial  dialogue !  My  style 
is  too  finished,  you  understand,  my  diction  too  per- 
fect. Manager  after  manager  has  been  on  the  verge 
of  accepting  a  play,  and  been  deterred  solely  on 
account  of  this  too  literary  quality,  I  suffer  from 
the  excess  of  my  virtue ;  you  see  ?" 

Quin  did  not  see.  Mr.  Martel's  words  conveyed 
but  the  vaguest  meaning  to  him.  But  it  flattered  his 
vanity  to  be  the  recipient  of  such  a  great  man's 
confidence. 

"Well,  here 's  my  point,"  continued  his  host 
impressively.  "Mr.  Phippe  knows  nothing  of 
technic,  of  construction;  but  he  has  a  sense  for 
character  and  dialogue  that  amounts  to  genius. 
Now,  suppose  I  construct  a  great  plot,  and  he  sup- 
plies great  dialogue?  What  will  be  the  inevitable 
result?  A  masterpiece,  a  little  modern  master- 
piece!" 

Mr.  Martel,  soaring  on  the  wings  of  his  imagina- 
tion, failed  to  observe  that  his  listener  was  not 
following. 

"Does — does  Miss  Eleanor  know  about  all  this  ?" 
Quin  asked. 

"Alas,  no.     I  had  no  opportunity  to  tell  her. 


ioo  QUIN 

Ah,  Mr.  Graham,  I  must  confess,  it  hurts  me,  it 
hurts  me  here," — he  indicated  a  grease-spot  just 
below  his  vest  pocket, — "to  be  separated  from  that 
dear  child  just  when  she  needs  me  most.  She 
should  be  already  embarked  in  her  great  career. 
Ellen  Terry,  Bernhardt,  Rachel,  all  began  their 
training  very  early.  If  she  had  been  left  to  me 
she  would  be  behind  the  footlights  by  now." 

"They  '11  never  stand  for  her  going  on  the  stage," 
said  Quin  authoritatively.  It  was  astonishing  how 
intimate  he  felt  with  the  Bartletts  since  he  had  put 
two  of  them  to  bed. 

"Ah,  my  friend,"  said  Mr.  Martel,  shaking  his 
head  and  smiling,  "what  can  be  avoided  whose  end 
is  purposed  by  the  mighty  gods?  Eleanor  will  fol- 
low her  destiny.  She  has  the  temperament,  the  voice, 
the  figure — a  trifle  small,  I  grant  you,  but  lithe, 
graceful,  pliant  as  a  reed." 

"Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean,"  Quin  agreed 
ardently;  "you  can  tell  that  in  her  dancing." 

"But  more  than  all,  she  has  the  great  ambition, 
the  consuming  desire  for  self-expression,  for " 

Quin's  face  clouded  slightly  and  he  again  lost  the 
thread  of  the  discourse. 

"Lots  of  girls  are  stage-struck,"  he  said  pres- 
ently, breaking  in  on  Mr.  Martel's  rhapsody.  "Miss 
Eleanor  's  young  yet  Don't  you  believe  she  will 
get  over  it?" 

"Young!     Why,   Mary  Anderson  was   playing 


QUIN  101 

Meg  Merrilies  when  she  was  two  years  younger 
than  Eleanor.  I  tell  you,  Quinby — you  '11  forgive 
my  addressing  you  thus — I  tell  you,  the  girl  will 
never  get  over  it.  She  has  inherited  the  histrionic 
gift  from  her  mother — from  me.  The  Bartletts 
have  given  her  money,  education,  social  position; 
but  it  remained  for  me — the  despised  Claude  Martel 
— to  give  her  the  soul  of  an  artist.  And  mark 
me," — he  paused  effectively  with  a  lifted  forefinger, 
— "it  will  be  Claude  Martel  who  gives  her  her  heart's 
desire.  For  years  I  have  fostered  in  her  a  love  for 
the  drama.  I  have  taken  her  to  see  great  plays.  I 
have  taught  her  to  read  great  lines,  and  above  all  I 
have  fed  her  ambition.  The  time  was  limited — a 
night  here,  a  day  there;  but  I  planted  a  seed  they 
cannot  kill.  It  has  grown,  it  will  flower ;  no  one  can 
stop  it  now." 

The  subject  was  one  upon  which  Quin  would 
fain  have  discoursed  indefinitely,  but  a  glance  at  his 
watch  reminded  him  that  the  business  of  the  day  did 
not  admit  of  further  delay.  He  not  only  had  an 
important  errand  to  perform,  but  he  must  look  for 
work.  His  exchequer,  as  usual,  was  very  low  and 
the  need  for  replenishing  it  was  imperative. 

When  he  reached  Bartlett  &  Bangs'  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  city,  the  big  manufacturing  plant  was 
ominously  still.  The  only  sign  of  life  about  the 
place  was  at  the  wide  entrance  doors  at  the  end  of 


102  QUIN 

the  yards,  where  a  group  of  men  were  talking  and 
gesticulating  excitedly. 

"What's  the  shindy?"  Quin  asked  a  bystander. 

"Union  men  trying  to  keep  scabs  from  going  to 
work,"  answered  his  informant.  "Somebody 's 
fixin'  to  get  hurt  there  in  about  two  minutes." 

Quin,  to  whom  a  scrap  was  always  a  pleasant 
diversion,  ran  forward  and  craned  his  neck  to  see 
what  was  happening.  Speeches  were  being  made, 
hot  impassioned  speeches,  now  in  favor  of  the  union, 
now  against  it,  and  every  moment  the  excitement 
increased.  Quin  listened  with  absorbed  attention, 
trying  to  get  the  straight  of  the  matter. 

Just  now  a  sickly-looking  man,  with  a  piece  of 
red  flannel  tied  around  his  throat,  was  standing  on 
the  steps,  making  a  futile  effort  against  the  noise 
to  explain  his  return  to  work. 

"I  can't  let  'em  starve,"  he  kept  repeating  in  a 
hoarse,  apologetic  voice.  "When  a  man 's  got  a 
sick  wife  and  eight  children,  he  ain't  able  to  do  as 
he  likes.  I  don't  want  to  give  in  no  more  'n  you-all 
do.  Neither  does  Jim  here,  nor  Tom  Dawes.  But 
what  can  we  do?" 

"Do  like  the  rest  of  us!"  shouted  some  one  in  the 
crowd.  "Stick  it  out!  Learn  'em  a  lesson.  They 
can't  run  their  bloomin'  old  plant  without  us.  Pull 
him  down  off  them  steps,  boys !" 

"Naw,  you  don't!"  cried  another  man,  seizing  a 
stick  and  jumping  at  the  steps.  "We  got  a  right  to 


QUIN  103 

do  as  we  like,  same  as  you!  Come  on  up,  Tom 
Dawes!  We  ain't  going  to  let  our  families  in  for 
the  Charity  Organization." 

Quick  cries  of  "Traitor!"  "Scab!"  "Pull  'em 
down!"  were  succeeded  by  a  lively  scrimmage  in 
which  there  was  a  rush  for  the  steps. 

Quin,  from  his  place  at  the  edge  of  the  crowd, 
saw  a  dozen  men  surround  three.  He  saw  the  man 
with  the  red  rag  about  his  throat  put  up  a  feeble 
defense  against  two  assailants.  Then  he  ceased  to 
see  and  began  only  to  feel.  Whatever  the  row  was 
about,  they  were  n't  fighting  fairly,  and  his  blood 
began  to  rise.  He  stood  it  as  long  as  he  could; 
then,  with  a  cry  of  protest,  he  plunged  through  the 
crowd.  In  his  sternest  top-sergeant  voice  he  issued 
orders,  and  enforced  them  with  a  brawny  fist  that 
was  used  to  handling  men.  A  moment  later  he 
dragged  a  limp  victim  from  under  the  struggling 
group. 

This  unexpected  interruption  by  an  unknown 
man  in  uniform,  together  with  the  appearance  of  a 
stern-faced  man  in  spectacles  at  an  upper  window, 
had  an  instant  effect  on  the  crowd.  The  strikers 
began  to  slink  out  of  the  yards,  while  the  three 
assaulted  men  dusted  their  clothes  and  entered  the 
factory. 

Quin  followed  them  in,  and  upon  inquiring  for 
the  office  was  directed  to  the  second  floor,  where  he 
followed  devious  ways  until  he  reached  the  door  of 


QUIN 

a  large  room  filled  with  desks  in  rows,  at  each  of 
which  sat  a  clerk. 

"Mr.  Bangs?"  repeated  a  red-nosed  girl,  in 
answer  to  his  inquiry.  "Got  an  appointment?" 

"No,"  said  Quin;  "but  I've  got  a  parcel  that's 
to  be  delivered  in  person."  s 

The  red-nosed  one  thereupon  consulted  the  man 
at  the  next  desk,  and,  after  some  colloquy,  conducted 
Quin  to  one  of  the  small  rooms  at  the  rear  of  the 
large  one. 

The  next  moment  Quin  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  the  stern-looking  personage  whose  mere 
appearance  at  the  window  a  few  minutes  before  had 
had  such  a  subduing  effect  on  the  crowd  below. 

As  he  listened  to  Quin's  message  he  looked  at  him 
narrowly  and  suspiciously  with  piercing  black  eyes 
that  seemed  intent  on  seeking  out  the  weakest  spot 
of  whatever  they  rested  upon. 

"When  did  Mr.  Bartlett  give  you  these  letters?" 
he  asked  in  a  tone  as  cold  as  the  tinkle  of  ice  against 
glass. 

"I  got  'em  last  night,  sir." 

"Where?" 

"At  his  house,  when  I  went  to  carry  word  about 
his  mother's  accident." 

"Close  that  door  back  of  you,"  said  Mr.  Bangs, 
with  a  jerk  of  his  head;  then  he  went  on.  "So  Mr. 
Bartlett  was  at  home  when  you  reached  there  last 
night  ?" 


QUIN  105 

"Oh,  yes,  sir !"  Quin  assured  him  with  an  empha- 
sis that  implied  Mr.  Randolph  Bartlett's  unfailing- 
presence  at  his  own  fireside  on  every  Sabbath 
evening. 

"That  is  strange,"  Mr.  Bangs  commented  dryly. 
"Miss  Enid  Bartlett  telephoned  an  hour  ago  that  her 
brother  and  his  wife  were  out  of  the  city." 

Quin  was  visibly  embarrassed.  He  was  not  used 
to  treading  the  quicksands  of  duplicity,  and  he  felt 
himself  sinking. 

"Young  man,"  said  Mr.  Bangs  sternly,  "I  am 
inclined  to  think  you  are  deceiving  me." 

"No,"  said  Quin  with  spirit,  "I  have  n't  deceived 
you;  but  I  did  lie  to  Miss  Eleanor's  aunt  over  the 
telephone." 

"What  was  your  object?'* 

"Well,  I  couldn't  tell  her  Mr.  Bartlett  was 
stewed,  could  I?" 

Mr.  Bangs  gave  a  short,  contemptuous  laugh. 
"As  I  thought,"  he  said.  "That  will  do." 

But  Quin  had  no  intention  of  going  until  he  had 
spoken  a  word  in  his  own  behalf.  The  idea  had 
just  occurred  to  him  that  by  obtaining  a  position 
with  Bartlett  &  Bangs  he  could  add  another  link  to 
the  chain  that  was  to  bind  him  to  Eleanor. 

"You  don't  happen  to  have  a  job  for  me?"  he 
inquired  of  the  back  of  Mr.  Bangs's  bald,  dome- 
like head. 


io6  QUIN 

"A  job?"  repeated  Mr.  Bangs,  glancing  over  his 
shoulder  at  Quin's  uniform. 

"Yes,  sir.     I  'm  out  of  the  service  now." 

"What  can  you  do?" 

Quin  looked  at  him  quizzically.  "I  can  receive 
and  obey  the  orders  of  the  commanding  officer,"  he 
said. 

Mr.  Bangs,  being  humor-proof,  evidently  consid- 
ered this  impertinent,  and  repeated  his  question 
sharply. 

"Oh,  I  '11  do  anything,"  said  Quin  rashly.  "Sol- 
diers can't  be  choosers  these  days." 

Mr.  Bangs  cast  a  critical  eye  on  his  strong,  well 
built  frame: 

"We  might  use  you  in  the  factory,"  he  said  indif- 
ferently; "we  need  all  the  strike-breakers  we  can 
get." 

Quin's  face  fell  "I  don't  know  about  that,"  he 
said  slowly.  "I  have  n't  made  up  my  mind  yet  about 
this  union  business." 

"I  thought  you  were  helping  the  union  men  in 
the  yard  just  now." 

"I  was  helping  that  little  Irishman  that  was  get- 
ting the  life  choked  out  of  him." 

Mr.  Bangs's  mouth  became  a  hard,  straight  line. 

"Then  I  take  it  you  sympathize  with  the  strikers  ?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or  not,"  Quin  declared 
stoutly.  "I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  But  one 
thing 's  certain — I  'm  not  going  to  take  another 


QUIN  107 

fellow's  job,  when  he 's  holding  out  for  better  con- 
ditions, until  I  know  whether  those  better  condi- 
tions are  due  him  or  not." 

Mr.  Bangs's  fish  eyes  regarded  him  with  glitter- 
ing disfavor, 

"Perhaps  you  would  prefer  an  office  job?"  he 
suggested  with  cold  insolence.  "I  need  some  one  to 
brush  out  in  the  morning  and  to  wash  windows 
when  necessary." 

The  erstwhile  hero  of  the  Sixth  Field  Artillery 
felt  his  heart  thumping  madly  under  his  distin- 
guished-conduct medal;  but  he  had  declared  that  he 
would  accept  any  kind  of  work,  and  he  was  deter- 
mined not  to  have  his  bluff  called. 

"All  right,  sir,"  he  said  gamely;  "I'll  start  at 
that  if  it  will  lead  to  something  better." 

"That  rests  entirely  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Bangs. 
"Report  for  work  in  the  morning." 

Quin  got  out  of  the  office  with  a  hot  head,  cold 
hands,  and  a  terrible  sinking  of  the  heart.  He  had 
forged  the  first  link  in  his  chain — he  was  an 
employee  of  the  great  Bartlett  &  Bangs  Company; 
but  the  gap  between  himself  and  Eleanor  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  widened  to  infinity. 


CHAPTER  10 

IF  the  window-washing  did  not  become  an  actu- 
ality, it  was  due  to  the  weather  rather  than  to 
any  clemency  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Bangs.  He 
seemed  bent  upon  testing  Quin's  mettle,  and  re- 
quired tasks  of  him  that  only  a  man  used  to  the 
discipline  of  the  army  would  have  performed. 

Quin,  on  his  part,  carried  out  instructions  with 
a  thoroughness  and  dispatch  that  upset  the  entire 
office  force.  He  had  been  told  to  clean  things  up, 
and  he  took  an  unholy  joy  in  interpreting  the  order 
in  military  terms.  Never  before  had  there  been  such 
a  drastic  overhauling  of  the  premises.  He  did  not 
stop  at  cleaning  up;  he  insisted  upon  things  being 
kept  clean  and  orderly.  In  a  short  time  he  had 
instituted  reforms  that  broke  the  traditions  of  half 
a  century. 

"Who  moved  my  desk  out  like  this?"  thundered 
Mr.  Bangs  on  the  second  day  after  Quin's  arrival. 

"I  did,  sir,"  said  Quin.  "You  can  get  a  much 
better  light  here,  and  no  draught  from  the  door." 

"Well,  when  I  want  my  desk  moved  I  will  inform 
you,"  said  Mr.  Bangs. 

But  a  day's  trial  of  the  new  arrangement  proved 
1 08 


QUTN  109 

so  satisfactory  that  the  desk  remained  in  its  new 
position. 

Other  innovations  met  with  less  favor.  The 
clerks  in  the  outer  office  objected  to  the  windows 
being  kept  down  from  the  top,  and  Mr.  Bangs  was 
constantly  annoyed  when  he  found  that  his  papers 
were  disturbed  by  a  daily  dusting  and  sorting. 
Quin  met  the  complaints  and  rebuffs  with  easy  good 
humor,  and  went  straight  on  with  his  business.  The 
moment  his  energies  were  dammed  at  one  point, 
they  burst  forth  with  fresh  vigor  at  another. 

The  only  object  about  the  office  that  was  left 
undisturbed  was  Minerva,  a  large  black  cat  which 
the  stenographer  told  him  belonged  to  Mr.  Randolph 
Bartlett.  Quin  was  hopelessly  committed  to  cats 
in  general,  and  to  black  cats  in  particular,  and  the 
fact  that  this  one  met  with  Mr.  Bangs's  marked 
disfavor  made  him  champion  her  cause  at  once. 
One  noon  hour,  in  his  first  week,  he  was  sitting 
alone  in  the  inner  office,  scratching  Minerva's  head 
in  the  very  spot  behind  the  ear  where  a  cat  most 
likes  to  be  scratched,  when  a  lively  voice  from  the 
doorway  demanded: 

"Well,  young  man,  what  do  you  mean  by  making 
love  to  my  cat  in  my  absence?" 

"She  flirted  with  me  first,"  said  Quin.  Then  he 
took  a  second  look  at  the  stranger  and  got  up  smil- 
ing. "You  are  Mr.  Bartlett,  I  believe?" 

"Yes.     Are  you  waiting  for  Mr.  Bangs?" 


no  QUIN 

"No,  sir,"  said  Quin ;  "he 's  waiting  for  me. 
I  'm  to  let  him  know  as  soon  as  you  come  in.  I  am 
the  new  office-boy." 

He  grinned  down  on  the  shorter  man,  who  in 
his  turn  laughed  outright. 

"Office-boy?  What  nonsense!  Where  have  I 
seen  you  before?  What  is  your  name?" 

"Quinby  Graham,  sir." 

"Drop  the  sir,  for  heaven's  sake.  I  'm  no  officer. 
Where  in  the  dickens  have  I  met  you?  Oh!  wait 
a  second,  I  've  got  it !  Sunday  night.  We  were  out 
somewhere  together " 

"Hold  on  there,"  said  Quin.  "You  were  out 
together,  but  I  was  out  by  myself.  We  met  at  your 
door." 

"So  you  were  the  chap  that  played  the  good 
Samaritan  ?  Well,  it  was  damned  clever  of  you,  old 
man.  I  'm  glad  of  a  chance  to  thank  you.  I  had  n't 
touched  a  drop  for  six  weeks  before  that,  but  you 
see " 

Mr.  Bangs's  metallic  voice  was  heard  in  the  outer 
office,  and  the  two  younger  men  started. 

"You  bet  I  see !"  said  Quin  sympathetically  as  he 
hurried  out  to  inform  the  senior  member  of  the 
firm  that  the  junior  member  awaited  his  pleasure. 

What  happened  at  that  interview  was  recounted 
to  him  by  Miss  Leaks,  the  little  drab-colored  stenog- 
rapher, who  had  returned  from  lunch  when  the  storm 
was  at  its  height. 


QUIN  in 

"It 's  a  wonder  Mr.  Ranny  don't  kill  that  old  man 
for  the  way  he  sneers  at  him,"  she  said  indignantly 
to  Quin.  "Why,  /  would  n't  take  off  him  what  Mr. 
Ranny  does!  But  then,  what  can  he  do?  His 
mother  keeps  him  here  for  a  mouth-piece  for  her, 
and  Mr.  Bangs  knows  it.  It 's  no  wonder  he  drinks, 
hitched  up  to  a  cantankerous  old  hyena  like  that. 
He  never  can  stand  up  for  himself,  but  he  stood  up 
for  you  all  right." 

"For  me?"  repeated  Quin.  "Where  did  I 
come  in?" 

"Why,  he  said  it  was  a  shame  for  a  man  like  you 
to  be  doing  the  work  you  are  doing,  and  that  he  for 
one  would  n't  stand  it.  He  talked  right  up  to  the 
boss  about  patriotism  and  our  duty  to  the  returned 
soldier,  until  he  made  the  old  tyrant  look  like  ten 
cents !  And  then  he  come  right  out  and  said  if  Mr. 
Bangs  could  n't  offer  you  anything  better  he  could." 

"What  did  he  say  to  that?"  asked  Quin. 

"He  curled  up  his  lip  and  asked  Mr.  Ranny  why 
he  did  n't  engage  you  for  a  private  secretary,  and 
if  you  '11  believe  me  Mr.  Ranny  looked  him  straight 
in  the  eye  and  said  it  was  a  good  idea,  and  that  he 
would." 

"A  private  secretary!"  Quin  exclaimed.  "But 
I  don't  know  a  blooming  thing  about  stenography 
or  typewriting." 

"Don't  you  let  on,"  advised  Miss  Leaks.  "Mr. 
Ranny  does  n't  have  enough  work  to  amount  to  any- 


H2  QUIN 

thing,  and  he  's  so  tickled  at  carrying  his  point  that 
he  won't  be  particular.  I  can  teach  you  how  to 
take  dictation  and  use  the  typewriter." 

The  following  week  found  Quin  installed  in  the 
smaller  of  the  two  private  offices,  with  a  title  that 
in  no  way  covered  the  duties  he  was  called  upon  to 
perform.  To  be  sure,  he  got  Mr.  Ranny's  small 
affairs  into  systematic  running  order,  and,  under 
Miss  Leaks's  efficient  instruction,  was  soon  able 
slowly  but  accurately  to  hammer  out  the  necessary 
letters  on  the  typewriter.  He  was  even  able  at 
times  to  help  Mr.  Chester,  the  melancholy  book- 
keeper whom  the  other  clerks  called  "Fanny." 

Through  working  with  figures  all  his  life  Mr. 
Chester  had  come  to  resemble  one.  With  his  lean 
body  and  drooping  oval  head,  he  was  not  unlike  the 
figure  nine,  an  analogy  that  might  be  continued  by 
saying  that  nine  is  the  highest  degree  a  bachelor 
number  can  achieve,  the  figures  after  that  going  in 
couples.  It  was  an  open  secret  that  the  tragedy  of 
Mr.  Chester's  uneventful  life  lay  in  that  simple 
fact. 

In  addition  to  Quin's  heterogeneous  duties  at  the 
office,  he  was  frequently  pressed  into  service  for 
more  personal  uses.  When  Mr.  Ranny  failed  to 
put  in  an  appearance,  he  was  invariably  dispatched 
to  find  him,  and  was  often  able  to  handle  the  situa- 
tion in  a  way  that  was  a  great  relief  to  all  concerned. 

One  day,  after  he  had  been  with  the  firm  several 


QUIN  113 

weeks,  he  was  dispatched  with  a  budget  of  papers 
for  Madam  Bartlett  to  sign.  It  was  the  first  time 
he  had  entered  the  house  since  the  night  of  the  acci- 
dent, and  as  he  stood  in  the  front  hall  waiting 
instructions,  he  looked  about  him  curiously. 

The  lower  floor  had  been  "done"  in  peacock  blue 
and  gold  when  Miss  Enid  made  her  debut  twenty 
years  before,  and  it  had  never  been  undone.  An 
embossed  dado  and  an  even  more  embossed  frieze 
encircled  the  walls,  and  the  ceiling  was  a  complicated 
mosaic  of  color  and  design.  The  stiff-backed 
chairs  and  massive  sofas  were  apparently  committed 
for  life  to  linen  strait- jackets.  Heavy  velvet  cur- 
tains shut  out  the  light  and  a  faint  smell  of  coal  soot 
permeated  the  air.  Over  the  hall  fireplace  hung  a 
large  portrait  of  Madam  Bartlett,  just  inside  the 
drawing-room  gleamed  a  marble  bust  of  her,  and 
two  long  pier-glasses  kept  repeating  the  image  of 
her  until  she  dominated  every  nook  and  corner  of 
the  place. 

But  Quin  saw  little  of  all  this.  To  him  the  house 
was  simply  a  background  for  images  of  Eleanor: 
Eleanor  coming  down  the  broad  stairs  in  her  blue 
and  gray  costume;  Eleanor  tripping  through  the 
hall  in  her  Red  Cross  uniform;  Eleanor  standing  in 
the  doorway  in  the  moonlight,  telling  him  how 
wonderful  he  was. 

He  had  written  her  exactly  ten  letters  since  her 
departure,  but  only  two  had  been  dispatched,  and 


H4  QUIN 

by  a  fatal  error  these  two  were  identical.  After  a 
superhuman  effort  to  couch  his  burning  thoughts 
in  sufficiently  cool  terms,  he  had  achieved  a  partially 
successful  result;  but,  discovering  after  addressing 
the  envelope  that  he  had  misspelled  two  words,  he 
laboriously  made  another  copy,  addressed  a  second 
envelope,  then  inadvertently  mailed  both. 

He  had  received  such  a  scoffing  note  in  reply  that 
his  ears  tingled  even  now  as  he  thought  of  it.  It 
was  only  when  he  recalled  the  postscript  that  he 
found  consolation.  "How  funny  that  you  should 
get  a  position  at  Bartlett  &  Bangs's,"  she  had  writ- 
ten. "If  you  should  happen  to  meet  any  member 
of  my  family,  for  heaven's  sake  don't  mention  my 
name.  They  might  link  you  up  with  the  Hawaiian 
Garden,  or  the  trip  to  the  camp  that  night  grand- 
mother was  hurt.  Just  let  our  friendship  be  a  little 
secret  between  you  and  me." 

"  'You  and  me/ '  Quin  repeated  the  words 
softly  to  himself,  as  he  stood  there  among  the  objects 
made  sacred  by  her  one-time  presence. 

"Madam  Bartlett  wishes  you  to  come  upstairs  and 
explain  the  papers  before  she  signs  them,"  said  a 
woman  in  nurse's  uniform  from  the  stair  landing, 
and,  cap  in  hand,  Quin  followed  her  up  the  steps. 

At  the  open  door  of  the  large  front  room  he 
paused.  Lying  in  royal  state  in  a  huge  four-poster 
bed  was  Madam  Bartlett,  resplendent  in  a  purple 
robe,  with  her  hair  dressed  in  its  usual  elaborate 


QUIN  115 

style,  and  in  her  ears  pearls  that,  Quin  afterward 
assured  the  Martels,  looked  like  moth-balls. 

"You  go  on  out  of  here  and  stay  until  I  ring  for 
you,"  she  snapped  at  the  nurse;  then  she  squinted 
her  eyes  and  looked  at  Quin.  She  did  not  put  on 
her  eye-glasses;  they  were  reserved  for  feminine 
audiences  exclusively. 

"What  do  they  mean  by  sending  me  this  jumble 
of  stuff?"  she  demanded,  indicating  the  papers 
strewn  on  the  silk  coverlid.  "How  do  they  expect 
me  to  know  what  they  are  all  about?" 

"They  don't,"  said  Quin  reassuringly,  coming 
forward ;  "they  sent  me  to  tell  you." 

"And  who  are  you,  pray  ?" 

"I  am  Mr.  Randolph's  er — er — secretary." 

For  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  get  through  it 
without  a  grin,  and  to  his  relief  the  old  lady's  lips 
also  twitched. 

"Much  need  he  had  for  a  secretary!"  she  said, 
then  added  shrewdly :  "Are  n't  you  the  soldier  that 
put  the  splint  on  my  leg?" 

Quin  modestly  acknowledged  that  he  was. 

"It  was  a  mighty  poor  job,"  said  Madam,  "but  I 
guess  it  was  better  than  nothing." 

"How 's  the  leg  coming  on  ?"  inquired  Quin 
affably. 

"It 's  not  coming  on  at  all,"  Madam  said.  "If  I 
listen  to  those  fool  doctors  it 's  coming  off." 

Quin  shook  his  head  in  emphatic   disapproval. 


QUIN 

"Don't  you  listen  to  'em,"  he  advised  earnestly. 
"Doctors  don't  know  everything!  Why,  they  told 
a  fellow  out  at  the  hospital  that  his  arm  would  have 
to  come  off  at  the  shoulder.  He  lit  out  over  the 
hill,  bath-robe  and  all,  for  his  home  town,  and  got 
six  other  doctors  to  sign  a  paper  saying  he  didn't 
need  an  amputation.  He  got  back  in  twenty-four 
hours,  was  tried  for  being  A.  W.  O.  L.,  and  is 
serving  his  time  in  the  prison  ward  to-day.  But 
he  's  still  got  his  arm  all  right." 

"Good  for  him!"  said  Madam  heartily;  then,  re- 
calling the  business  in  hand,  she  added  peevishly: 
"Well,  stop  talking  now  and  explain  these  papers." 

Quin  went  over  them  several  times  with  great 
patience,  and  then  held  the  ink-well  while  she  trem- 
blingly signed  her  name. 

"Kinder  awkward  doing  things  on  your  back,"  he 
said  sympathetically,  as  she  sank  back  exhausted. 

"Awkward  ?  It 's  torture.  The  cast  is  bad 
enough  in  itself;  but  having  to  lie  in  one  position 
like  this  makes  me  sore  all  over." 

"You  don't  have  to  tell  me,"  said  Quin,  easing  up 
the  bed-clothes  with  quite  a  professional  air;  "I 
was  six  months  on  my  back.  But  there  's  no  sense 
in  keeping  you  like  this.  Why  don't  they  rig  you 
up  a  pulley,  so  's  you  can  change  the  position  of 
your  body  without  disturbing  your  leg?" 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Like  this,"  said  Quin,  taking  a  paper  -knife  and 


QUIN  117 

a  couple  of  spoons  from  the  table  and  demonstrating 
his  point. 

Madam  listened  with  close  attention,  and  so  ab- 
sorbed were  she  and  Quin  that  neither  of  them  were 
conscious  of  Miss  Isobel's  entrance  until  they  heard 
her  feeble  protest: 

"I  would  not  dare  try  anything  like  that  without 
consulting  Dr.  Rawlins." 

"Nobody  wants  you  to  dare  anything,"  flared  out 
her  mother.  "What  the  boy  says  sounds  sensible. 
He  says  he  has  fixed  them  for  the  soldiers  at  the 
hospital.  I  want  him  to  fix  one  for  me." 

"When  shall  I  come?"  Quin  asked. 

"Come  nothing.  You  '11  stay  and  do  it  now. 
Telephone  the  factory  that  I  am  keeping  you  here 
for  the  morning.  Isobel,  order  him  whatever  he 
needs.  And  now  get  out  of  here,  both  of  you;  I 
want  to  take  a  nap." 

Thus  it  was  that,  an  hour  later,  the  new  colored 
butler  was  carrying  the  papers  back  to  Bartlett  & 
Bangs's,  and  Mr.  Randolph's  new  secretary  was 
sawing  wood  in  Madam  Bartlett's  cellar.  It  was 
a  humble  beginning,  but  he  whistled  jubilantly  as  he 
worked.  Already  he  saw  himself  climbing,  by 
brilliant  and  spectacular  deeds,  to  a  dazzling  pinnacle 
of  security  in  the  family's  esteem. 


CHAPTER  ii 

MADAM  BARTLETT'S  accident  had  far- 
reaching  results.  For  fifty  years  her  firm 
hand  had  brooked  no  slightest  interference  with  the 
family  steering-wheel,  and  now  that  it  was  removed 
the  household  machinery  came  to  a  standstill.  She 
who  had  "ridden  the  whirlwind  and  directed  the 
storm"  now  found  herself  ignominiously  laid  low. 
Instead  of  rising  with  the  dawn,  primed  for  battle 
in  club  committee,  business  conclave,  or  family 
council,  she  lay  on  her  back  in  a  darkened  room,  a 
prisoner  to  pain.  The  only  vent  she  had  for  her 
pent-up  energy  was  in  hourly  tirades  against  her 
daughters  for  their  inefficiency,  the  nurses  for  their 
incompetency,  the  doctors  for  their  lack  of  skill,  and 
the  servants  for  their  disobedience. 

The  one  person  who,  in  any  particular,  found 
favor  with  her  these  days  was  her  son's  new  secre- 
tary. Every  Saturday,  when  Quinby  Graham 
stopped  on  his  way  to  the  bank  with  various  papers 
for  her  to  sign,  he  was  plied  with  questions  and 
intrusted  with  various  commissions.  A  top  sergeant 
was  evidently  just  what  Madam  had  been  looking 
for  all  her  life — one  trained  to  receive  orders  and 

118 


QUIN  119 

execute  them.  All  went  well  until  one  day  when 
Quin  refused  to  smuggle  in  some  forbidden  article 
of  diet ;  then  the  steam-roller  of  her  wrath  promptly 
passed  over  him  also. 

He  waited  respectfully  until  her  breath  and  vo- 
cabulary were  alike  exhausted,  then  said  good- 
humoredly : 

"I  used  to  board  with  a  woman  up  in  Maine  that 
had  hysterics  like  that.  They  always  made  her 
feel  a  lot  better.  Don't  you  want  me  to  shift  that 
pulley  a  bit?  You  don't  look  comfortable." 

Madam  promptly  ordered  him  out  of  the  room. 
But  next  day  she  made  an  excuse  to  send  for  him, 
and  actually  laughed  when  he  stepped  briskly  up  to 
the  bed,  saluted  smartly,  and  impudently  asked  her 
how  her  grouch  was. 

There  was  something  in  his  very  lack  of  rever- 
ence, in  his  impertinent  assumption  of  equality,  in 
his  refusal  to  pay  her  the  condescending  homage  due 
feebleness  and  old  age,  that  seemed  to  flatter  her. 

"He  's  a  mule,"  she  told  Randolph — "a  mule  with 
horse  sense." 

Quin's  change  from  khaki  to  civilian  clothes  af- 
fected him  in  more  ways  than  one.  Constitutionally 
he  was  opposed  to  saying  "sir"  to  his  fellow  men; 
to  standing  at  attention  until  he  was  recognized;  to 
acknowledging,  by  word  or  gesture,  that  he  was 
any  one's  inferior  on  this  wide  and  democratic 
planet.  He  much  preferred  organizing  to  being 


120  QUIN 

organized,  leading  to  being  led.  Early  in  his  mili- 
tary training  he  had  evinced  an  inclination  to  take 
things  into  his  own  hands  and  act  without  authority. 
It  was  somewhat  ironic  that  the  very  trait  that  had 
deprived  him  of  a  couple  of  bars  on  his  shoulder 
should  have  put  the  medal  on  his  breast. 

But  freedom  from  the  restrictions  of  army  life 
brought  its  penalties.  He  found  that  blunders  con- 
doned in  a  soldier  were  seriously  criticized  in  a 
civilian;  that  the  things  he  had  been  at  such  pains 
to  learn  in  the  past  two  years  were  of  no  apparent 
value  to  him  now.  It  was  a  constant  surprise  to 
him  that  a  plaid  suit  and  three-dollar  necktie  should 
meet  with  less  favor  in  the  feminine  eye  than  a 
dreary  drab  uniform. 

About  the  first  of  March  he  was  getting  some- 
what discouraged  at  his  slow  progress,  when  an  inci- 
dent happened  that  planted  his  feet  firmly  on  the 
first  rung  of  his  social  ladder. 

Ever  since  their  mother's  accident,  Miss  Isobel 
and  Miss  Enid  had  stood  appalled  before  their  new 
responsibilities.  They  were  like  two  trembling  dead 
leaves  that  still  cling  to  a  shattered  but  sturdy  old 
oak.  What  made  matters  worse  was  the  absence  of 
the  faithful  black  Tom,  who  for  years  had  served 
them  by  day  and  guarded  them  by  night.  They  lived 
in  constant  fear  of  burglars,  which  grew  into  a 
veritable  terror  when  some  one  broke  into  the 
pantry  and  rifled  the  shelves. 


QUIN  121 

Quin  heard  about  it  when  he  arrived  on  Saturday 
morning,  and  as  usual  offered  advice: 

"What  you  need  is  a  man  in  the  house.  Then 
you  would  n't  be  scared  all  the  time." 

"Well,"  said  Madam,  "what  about  you?" 

Quin's  face  fell.  He  had  no  desire  to  exchange 
the  noisy,  wholesome  family  life  of  the  Martels  for 
the  silent,  somber  grandeur  of  the  Bartletts.  His 
affections  had  taken  root  in  the  shabby  little  brown 
house  that  always  seemed  to  be  humming  gaily  to 
itself.  When  the  piano  was  not  being  played,  the 
violin  or  guitar  was.  There  were  bursts  of  laugh- 
ter, snatches  of  song,  and  young  people  going  and 
coming  through  doors  that  never  stayed  closed. 

"You  don't  seem  keen  about  the  proposition," 
Madam  commented  dryly,  smoothing  the  bed-clothes 
with  her  wrinkled  fingers. 

"Well,  I  can't  say  I  am,"  Quin  admitted.  "You 
see,  I  'm  living  with  some  friends  out  on  Sixth 
Street.  They  are  sort  of  kin-folks  of  yours,  I  be- 
lieve— the  Martels." 

A  carefully  aimed  hand  grenade  could  have  pro- 
duced no  more  violent  or  immediate  result.  Madam 
damned  the  Martels,  individually  and  collectively, 
and  furiously  disclaimed  any  relationship. 

"They  are  a  trifling,  worthless  lot !"  she  stormed. 
"I  wish  I  'd  never  heard  of  them.  They  fastened 
their  talons  on  my  son  Bob,  and  ruined  his  life,  and 
now  they  are  doing  all  they  can  to  ruin  my  grand- 


122  QUIN 

daughter.  Haven't  you  ever  heard  them  speak 
of  me?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Quin  with  laughing  significance. 

"What  do  they  say?"  Madam  demanded  instantly. 

"You  want  it  straight?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  Mr.  Martel  told  me  only  last  night  that 
he  thought  you  were  an  object  of  pity." 

Madam's  jaw  relaxed  in  amazement. 

"What  on  earth  did  he  mean?"  she  asked. 

"He  said  you  'd  got  'most  everything  in  life  that 
he  'd  missed,  but  he  'd  hate  to  change  places  with 
you." 

She  lay  perfectly  still,  staring  at  him  with  her 
small  restless  eyes,  and  when  she  spoke  again  it  was 
to  revert  to  the  subject  of  burglars. 

Quin  was  relieved.  He  had  been  skating  on  thin 
ice  in  discussing  the  Martels,  for  any  moment  might 
have  brought  up  a  question  concerning  Eleanor. 

"I  used  to  have  a  corporal  that  was  an  ex-bur- 
glar," he  said,  plunging  into  the  new  subject  with 
alacrity.  "First-rate  fellow,  too.  Last  I  heard  of 
him,  he  had  a  position  as  chauffeur  with  a  rich  old 
lady  who  lived  alone  up  in  Detroit.  She  had  two 
burglar-alarm  systems,  but  the  joke  of  it  was  she 
made  him  sleep  in  the  house  for  extra  protection!" 

"I  suppose  you  are  trying  to  frighten  me  off  from 
engaging  you?"  Madam  asked, 

"Not  exactly,"   Quin  smiled,     "Of  course  I'll 


QUIN  123 

come  if  you  can't  get  anybody  else.  But  there's 
no  question  of  engaging  me.  If  I  come,  I  pay 
board." 

Madam  laughed  aloud  for  the  first  time  since  her 
accident. 

"Do  you  take  me  for  a  landlady?"  she  asked. 

"Only  when  you  take  me  for  a  night-watchman," 
said  Quin. 

They  eyed  each  other  steadily  for  a  moment,  then 
she  held  out  her  hand. 

"We  '11  compromise,"  she  said.  "No  salary  and 
no  board.  We  '11  try  it  out  for  a  week." 

The  next  day  Quin's  suit-case,  containing  all  his, 
worldly  possessions,  was  transferred  from  the  small 
stuffy  room  over  the  Martels'  kitchen  to  the  large 
luxurious  one  over  the  Bartletts'  dining-room.  It 
was  quite  the  grandest  room  he  had  ever  occupied, 
with  its  massive  walnut  furniture  and  its  heavily 
draped  windows;  but,  had  it  been  stripped  bare  but 
for  a  single  picture,  it  would  still  have  been  a  cham- 
bre  de  luxe  to  him.  The  moment  he  entered  he 
discovered  a  photograph  of  Eleanor  on  the  mantel, 
and  ten  minutes  later,  when  Hannah  tapped  at  the 
door  to  say  that  dinner  was  served,  he  was  still 
standing  with  arms  folded  on  the  shelf  in  absorbed 
adoration. 

That  first  meal  with  the  Misses  Bartlctt  was  an 
ordeal  he  never  forgot.  Their  formal  aloofness  and 
evident  dismay  at  his  presence  were  enough  in  them- 


124  QUIN 

selves  to  embarrass  him;  but  combined  with  the 
necessity  of  choosing  the  right  knife  and  fork,  of 
breaking  his  bread  properly,  and  of  removing  his 
spoon  from  his  coffee-cup,  they  were  quite  over- 
powering. During  his  two  years  in  the  army  he 
had  drifted  into  the  easy  habits  and  easier  vernacular 
of  the  enlisted  man.  Whatever  knowledge  he  ha<J 
of  the  amenities  of  life  had  almost  been  forgotten. 
But,  though  his  social  virtues  were  few,  he  pas- 
sionately identified  himself  with  them  rather  than 
with  his  faults,  which  were  many.  To  prove  his 
politeness,  for  instance,  he  insisted  upon  his  hos- 
tesses having  second  helps  to  every  dish,  offered  to 
answer  the  telephone  whenever  it  rang,  and  even 
obligingly  started  to  answer  the  door-bell  during  the 
salad  course. 

That  dinner  was  but  the  initiation  into  a  week  of 
difficult  adjustments.  When  he  was  not  in  the  arctic 
region  surrounding  Miss  Isobel  and  Miss  Enid,  he 
was  in  the  torrid  zone  of  Madam's  presence.  New 
and  embarrassing  situations  confronted  him  on 
every  hand,  and  when  he  was  not  breaking  conven- 
tions he  was  breaking  china.  But  Quin  was  not 
sensitive,  and,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  being 
silently  or  vocally  condemned  most  of  the  time,  he 
cheerfully  persevered  in  his  determination  to  win 
the  respect  of  the  family. 

The  saving  of  his  ignorance  was  that  he  never 
tried  to  conceal  it.  He  looked  at  it  with  surprise 


QUIN  125 

and  discussed  it  with  disconcerting  frankness.  He 
was  no  more  abashed  in  learning  new  and  better 
ways  of  conducting  himself  than  he  would  have 
been  in  learning  a  new  language.  He  laughed  good- 
humoredly  at  his  mistakes  and  seldom  committed  the 
same  one  a  second  time.  His  limitations  were  to  him 
like  the  frontier  to  a  pioneer — a  thing  to  be  reached 
and  crossed. 

If  only  he  could  have  contented  himself  with  per- 
forming the  one  duty  required  of  him  and  then 
gracefully  effacing  himself,  his  success  would  have 
been  assured.  But  that  was  not  Quin's  nature. 
Having  identified  himself  with  the  family,  he 
promptly  assumed  full  responsibility  for  its  welfare. 
By  the  end  of  the  second  week  he  was  the  self- 
constituted  head  of  the  establishment.  No  mission 
was  too  high  or  too  low  for  him  to  volunteer  to 
perform.  One  moment  he  was  tactfully  severing 
diplomatic  relations  with  a  consulting  physician  in 
the  front  hall,  the  next  he  was  firing  the  furnace  in 
the  basement.  Whenever  he  was  in  the  house  he 
was  meeting  emergencies  and  adjusting  difficulties, 
upsetting  established  customs  and  often  achieving 
unexpected  results  with  new  ones, 

Miss  Isobel  and  Miss  Enid  stood  aghast  at  his 
temerity,  and  waited  hourly  for  the  lightning  of 
Madam's  wrath  to  annihilate  him.  But,  though  the 
bolts  rained  about  him,  they  failed  to  destroy  him. 

On  one  occasion  Miss  Isobel  was  so  outraged  by 


126  QUIN 

his  familiar  attitude  toward  her  mother  that  she 
plucked  up  courage  to  remonstrate  with  him;  but 
Madam,  instead  of  appreciating  the  interference  on 
her  behalf,  promptly  turned  upon  her  defender. 

"Now,  Isobel,"  she  said  caustically,  "you  may  be 
old  enough  to  want  men  to  respect  you,  but  I  am 
young  enough  to  want  them  to  like  me.  You  leave 
young  Graham  alone." 

Quin  meanwhile,  in  spite  of  his  arduous  duties 
at  the  office  and  at  home,  was  living  in  a  world  of 
dreams.  The  privilege  of  hearing  Eleanor's  name 
frequently  mentioned,  of  getting  bits  of  news  of  her 
from  time  to  time,  the  exciting  possibility  of  being 
under  the  same  roof  with  her  when  she  returned, 
supplied  the  days  with  thrilling  zest.  Since  her 
teasing  note  in  answer  to  his  double-barreled  com- 
munication, he  had  written  but  once  and  received 
no  answer ;  but  he  knew  that  she  was  expected  home 
for  the  Easter  vacation,  and  he  lived  on  that  pros- 
pect. 

One  evening,  when  he  was  summoned  to  Madam's 
room  to  shorten  her  new  crutches,  he  realized  that 
the  all-important  subject  was  under  discussion. 

"Is  n't  that  exactly  like  her?"  Madam  was  saying. 
"Refusing  to  go  in  the  first  place,  and  now  objecting 
to  coming  home." 

"Well,  it  is  n't  especially  gay  for  her  here,  is  it?" 
Miss  Enid  ventured  in  feeble  defense.  "I  am  afraid 
we  are  rather  dull  company  for  a  young  girl." 


QUIN  127 

"Well,  make  it  gay,"  commanded  Madam.  "You 
and  Isobel  aren't  so  old  and  feeble  that  you  can't 
think  of  some  way  to  entertain  young  people." 

"A  tea?"  suggested  Miss  Enid. 

"A  tea  would  never  tempt  Eleanor.  She  's  too 
much  her  mother's  child  to  enjoy  anything  so  staid 
and  respectable." 

"Why  don't  you  give  her  a  dance?"  suggested 
Quin  enthusiastically,  looking  up  from  his  work. 

"Give  who  a  dance?"  demanded  Madam  in  sur- 
prise. 

"Miss  Eleanor,"  said  Quin,  bending  over  his  work 
and  blushing  to  the  roots  of  his  stubby  hair. 

The  three  ladies  exchanged  startled  glances;  then 
Miss  Enid  said: 

"Of  course.  I  had  forgotten  that  you  met  her 
the  night  of  the  accident.  I  wonder  if  we  could 
give  the  dear  child  a  party?" 

"It  is  not  to  be  thought  of,"  s.iid  Miss  Isobel, 
"with  no  regular  butler,  and  mother  ill " 

"I  tell  you,  I  'm  not  ill !"  snapped  Madam.  "I 
intend  to  be  up  and  about  by  Easter.  I  '11  give  as 
many  parties  as  I  like.  Hurry  up  with  those 
crutches,  Graham ;  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  wait 
all  night?" 

One  of  Quin's  first  acts  upon  coming  into  the 
house  had  been  to  aid  and  abet  Madam  in  her  de- 
termination to  use  her  injured  leg.  Dr.  Rawlins 


128  QUIN 

had  infuriated  her  by  his  pessimistic  warnings  and 
his  dark  suggestions  of  a  wheeled  chair. 

"We  '11  show  'em  what  you  can  do  when  you  get 
that  cast  off,"  Quin  had  reassured  her  with  the 
utmost  confidence.  "I  've  limbered  up  heaps  of 
stiff  legs  for  the  fellows.  It  takes  patience  and  grit. 
I  got  the  patience  and  you  got  the  grit,  so  there  we 
are!" 

Now  that  the  cast  was  off,  a  few  steps  were  at- 
tempted each  night,  during  which  painful  operation 
Miss  Enid  fled  to  another  room  to  shed  tears  of 
apprehension,  while  Miss  Isobel  hovered  about  the 
hall,  ready  to  call  the  doctor  if  anything  happened. 

"Is  that  better?"  he  asked  now,  as  he  got  Madam 
to  her  feet  and  carefully  adjusted  the  crutches.  "If 
you  say  they  are  too  short,  I  '11  tell  you  what  the 
little  man  said  when  he  was  teased  about  his  legs. 
'They  reach  the  ground,'  he  said;  'what  more  can 
you  ask?' ' 

"Shut  up  your  nonsense,  and  mind  what  you  are 
doing!"  cried  Madam.  "My  leg  is  worse  than  it 
was  yesterday.  I  can't  put  my  foot  to  the  ground." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can,"  Quin  insisted,  coaxing  her 
from  the  bed-post  to  the  dresser.  "You  are  coming 
on  fine.  I  never  saw  but  one  person  do  better.  That 
was  a  guy  I  knew  in  France  who  never  danced  a 
step  until  he  lost  a  leg,  and  then  his  cork  leg  taught 
his  other  leg  to  do  the  fox-trot." 

"Did  n't  I  tell  you  to  hush !"  commanded  Madam, 


QUIN  129 

laughing  in  spite  of  herself.  "You  will  have  me 
falling  over  here  in  a  minute." 

,\Vhen  she  was  back  in  her  chair  and  Quin  was 
leaving,  she  beckoned  to  him. 

"What  about  Mr.  Ranny?"  she  asked  in  an 
anxious  whisper.  "Was  he  at  the  office  to-day?" 

Quin  had  been  dreading  the  question,  but  when 
it  came  he  did  not  evade  it.  Randolph  Bartietfs 
lapses  from  grace  were  coming  with  such  alarming 
frequency  that  the  sisters'  frantic  efforts  to  keep  the 
truth  from  their  mother  only  resulted  in  arousing 
her  suspicion  and  making  her  more  unhappy. 

"No,"  said  Quin ;  "he  has  n't  been  there  for  a 
week.  He  's  never  going  to  be  any  better  as  long 
as  he  stays  in  the  business.  You  don't  know  what 
he  has  to  stand  from  Mr.  Bangs." 

"I  know  what  Mr.  Bangs  has  had  to  stand  from 
him." 

"Yes ;  but  Mr.  Ranny  's  never  mean.  He  is  one 
of  the  kindest,  nicest  gentlemen  I  ever  met  up  with. 
But  he  can't  stand  being  nagged  at  all  the  time,  and 
he  feels  that  he  don't  count  for  anything.  He  says 
Mr.  Bangs  considers  him  a  figurehead,  and  that 
he  'd  rather  be  selling  shoestrings  for  himself  than 
be  in  partnership  with  him." 

"Yes,  and  if  I  let  him  go  that 's  what  he  would  be 
doing,"  said  Madam  bitterly. 

"Mr.  Chester  don't  think  so,"  persisted  Quin; 
"he  says  Mr.  Ranny  's  got  a  lot  of  ability." 


130  QUIN 

"Don't  quote  that  sissified  Francis  Chester  to  me. 
He  may  be  a  good  man — I  suppose  he  is ;  but  I  can't 
abide  the  sight  of  him.  He  goes  around  holding 
one  hand  in  the  other  as  if  he  were  afraid  he  'd 
ipill  it !  What  did  you  say  he  said  about  Ranny  ?" 

"He  said  he  had  ability;  that  if  he  was  on  his  own 
in  the  country  some  place " 

"  'On  his  own' !"  Madam's  contempt  was  great. 
"He  has  n't  got  any  own.  He  's  just  like  the  girls — 
no  force  or  decision  about  any  of  them.  Their 
father  was  n't  like  that ;  I  am  sure  /  'm  not.  What 's 
the  matter  with  them,  anyhow?" 

Quin  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes.  "Do  you 
want  to  know,  honest?" 

Disconcerting  as  it  was  to  have  an  oratorical 
question  taken  literally,  Madam's  curiosity  prompted 
her  to  nod  her  head. 

"The  same  thing  's  the  matter  with  them,"  said 
Quin,  with  brutal  frankness,  "that 's  the  matter  with 
your  leg.  They  've  been  broken  and  kept  in  the  cast 
too  long." 

Then,  before  he  could  get  the  berating  he  surely 
deserved,  he  was  off  down  the  stairs,  disturbing  the 
silence  of  the  house  with  his  cheerful  whistle. 

At  breakfast  the  next  morning  he  scented  trouble. 
Until  now  he  had  made  little  headway  with  the  two 
sisters,  having  been  too  much  occupied  in  storming 
the  fortress  of  Madam's  regard  to  concern  himself 
with  the  outlying  districts.  But  this  morning  he 


QUIN  131 

met  with  an  even  colder  reception  than  usual.  In 
vain  he  fired  off  his  best  jokes :  Miss  Enid  remained 
pale  and  languid,  and  Miss  Isobel  presided  over  the 
coffee-pot  as  if  it  had  been  a  funeral  urn.  A  crisis 
was  evidently  pending,  and  he  determined  to  meet 
it  half  way. 

"Is  Queen  Vic  mad  at  me?"  he  asked  suddenly, 
leaning  forward  on  his  folded  arms  and  smiling 
with  engaging  candor. 

Miss  Isobel  started  to  pour  the  cream  into  the 
sugar-bowl,  but  caught  herself  in  the  act. 

"If  you  mean  my  mother,"  she  said  with  reprov- 
ing dignity,  "she  has  asked  me  to  tell  you — that  is, 
we  all  think  it  best " 

"For  me  to  go?"  Quin  finished  it  for  her.  "Now, 
look  here,  Miss  Isobel;  you  can  fire  me,  but  you 
know  you  can't  fire  the  furnace !  Who  is  going  to 
stay  here  at  night?  Who  is  going  to  carry  Madam 
up  and  down  stairs?  Of  course  I  don't  want  to 
butt  in,  but  if  ever  a  house  needed  a  man  it 's  this 
one.  Why  don't  you  have  me  stay  on  until  things 
get  to  running  easy  again?" 

There  was  an  embarrassing  pause  during  which 
Miss  Isobel  fidgeted  with  the  cups  and  saucers  and 
Miss  Enid  bit  her  lips  nervously. 

"Don't  you-all  like  me?"  persisted  Quin  with  his 
terrible  directness. 

Now,  Miss  Isobel  had  spent  her  life  in  evasions 
and  reservations  and  compromises.  To  have  even 


132  QUIN 

a  personal  liking  stripped  thus  in  public  offended 
her  maiden  modesty,  and  she  scurried  to  the  cover  of 
silence. 

"Of  course  we  like  you,"  murmured  Miss  Enid, 
coming  to  her  rescue.  "We  like  you  very  much, 
Mr.  Graham,  and  we  appreciate  your  kindness  in 
coming  to  help  us  out.  But  mother  feels  that  we 
should  n't  impose  on  your  good  nature  any  longer." 

Quin  shook  his  impatient  head. 

"That 's  not  it,"  he  said.  "She  's  mad  at  some- 
thing I  said  last  night,  and  she  's  got  a  right  to  be. 
It  was  true  all  right,  but  it  was  none  of  my  business. 
I  made  up  my  mind  before  I  went  to  bed  that  I 
was  going  to  apologize.  I  can  fix  things  up  with 
her.  It 's  you  and  Miss  Isobel  I  can't  understand. 
You  say  you  like  me,  but  you  don't  act  like  it.  I 
know  I  make  mistakes  about  lots  of  things,  and 
that  I  do  things  wrong  and  say  things  I  oughtn't 
to.  But  all  you  got  to  do  is  to  call  me  down.  I  want 
to  help  you ;  but  that 's  not  all — I  want  to  learn  the 
game.  When  a  fellow  has  knocked  around  with 
men  since  he  was  a  kid " 

He  broke  off  suddenly  and  stared  into  his  coffee- 
cup. 

"I  think  he  might  go  up  and  speak  to  mother, 
don't  you,  Isobel?"  asked  Miss  Enid  tentatively. 

Quin  pushed  back  his  chair  and  rose  precipitately 
from  the  table,  dragging  the  cloth  away  as  he  did  so. 

"That 's  not  the  point !"  he  said  heatedly.     "It 's 


QUIN  133 

for  you  two  to  decide,  as  well  as  her.  Do  you  want 
me  to  go  or  to  stay?" 

Miss  Isobel  and  Miss  Enid,  who  had  been  assur- 
ing each  other  almost  hourly  that  they  could  not 
stand  that  awful  boy  in  the  house  another  day, 
looked  at  each  other  intercedingly. 

"It  would  be  a  great  help  if  you  could  stay  at 
least  until  mother  learns  to  use  her  crutches,"  urged 
Miss  Enid. 

"Yes,  and  until  we  get  some  one  we  can  trust  to 
stay  with  us  at  night,"  added  Miss  Isobel. 

"I  '11  stay  as  long  as  you  like !"  said  Quin  heartily; 
and  he  departed  to  make  his  peace  with  Madam. 


CHAPTER  12 

FROM  that  time  on  Quin's  status  in  the  family 
became  less  anomalous.  To  be  sure,  he  was 
still  Mr.  Randolph's  private  secretary,  Madam's  top 
sergeant,  Miss  IsobeFs  and  Miss  Enid's  body-guard, 
and  the  household's  general-utility  man;  but  he  was 
now  something  else  in  addition.  Miss  Isobel  had 
discovered,  quite  by  chance,  that  he  was  the  grand- 
son of  Dr.  Ezra  Quinby,  whose  book  "Christianiz- 
ing China"  had  been  one  of  the  inspirations  of  her 
girlhood. 

"And  to  think  we  considered  asking  him  to  eat 
in  the  pantry !"  she  exclaimed  in  horror  to  her  sister. 

"Well,  I  told  you  all  along  he  was  a  gentleman 
by  instinct,"  said  Miss  Enid. 

To  be  sure,  they  were  constantly  shocked  by  his 
manners  and  his  frank  method  of  speech,  but  they 
were  also  exhilarated.  He  was  like  a  disturbing 
but  refreshing  breeze  that  swept  through  their  quiet, 
ordered  lives.  He  talked  about  things  and  places 
they  had  never  heard  of  or  seen,  and  recounted  his 
experiences  with  an  enthusiasm  that  was  contagious, 

As  for  Quin,  he  found,  to  his  surprise,  that  he 
was  enjoying  his  new  quarters  quite  as  much  as  he 

134 


QUIN  135 

had  the  old  ones.  Madam  was  a  never-ending 
source  of  amusement  and  interest  to  him,  and  Miss 
Isobel  and  Miss  Enid  soon  had  each  her  individual 
appeal.  He  liked  the  swish  of  their  silk  petticoats, 
and  the  play  of  their  slim  white  hands  about  the 
coffee-tray.  He  liked  their  super-feminine  delicacies 
of  speech  and  motion,  and  the  flattering  interest  they 
began  to  take  in  all  his  affairs. 

Miss  Isobel  developed  a  palpitating  concern  for 
his  spiritual  welfare  and  invited  him  to  go  to  church 
with  her.  She  even  introduced  him  to  the  minister 
with  proud  reference  to  his  distinguished  grand- 
father, and  basked  in  the  reflected  glory. 

Quin  did  not  take  kindly  to  church.  He  consid- 
ered that  he  had  done  his  full  duty  by  it  in  the  first 
fourteen  years  of  his  life,  when  he,  along  with  the 
regenerate  heathen,  had  been  forced  to  attend  five 
services  every  Sunday  in  the  gloomy  chapel  in  the 
compound  at  Nanking.  But  if  Eleanor's  aunt  had 
asked  him  to  accompany  her  to  the  gates  of  hell  in- 
stead of  the  portals  of  heaven,  he  would  have 
acquiesced  eagerly.  So  strenuously  did  he  lift  his 
voice  in  the  familiar  hymns  of  his  youth  that  he  was 
promptly  urged  to  join  the  choir,  an  ordeal  whose 
boredom  was  mitigated  only  during  the  few  mo- 
ments when  the  collection  was  taken  up  and  he  and 
the  tenor  could  bet  on  which  deacon  would  make  his 
round  first. 

Not  for  years  had  Miss  Isobel  had  such  thrilling 


136  QUIN 

occupation  as  that  of  returning  Ezra  Quinby's 
grandson  to  the  spiritual  fold.  In  spite  of  the  fact 
that  Quin  was  a  fairly  decent  chap  already,  whose 
worst  vices  were  poker  and  profanity,  she  persisted 
in  regarding  him  as  a  brand  which  she  had  been 
privileged  to  snatch  from  the  burning. 

What  gave  him  a  yet  more  intimate  claim  upon 
her  was  the  fact  that  his  heart  and  lungs  were  still 
troublesome,  and  with  any  over-exertion  on  his  part, 
or  a  sudden  change  in  the  weather,  his  chest  became 
very  sore  and  his  racking  cough  returned.  At  such 
times  Miss  Isobel  was  in  her  glory.  She  would 
put  him  to  bed  with  hot-water  bottles  and  mustard 
plasters  and  feed  him  hot  lemonade.  Quin  took 
kindly  to  the  coddling.  No  one  had  fussed  over  him 
like  that  since  his  mother  died,  and  he  was  touch- 
ingly  grateful. 

"Say,  you  'd  be  a  wonder  out  at  the  hospital,"  he 
said  to  her  on  one  of  these  occasions.  "I  wish  some 
of  those  fellows  with  the  flu  could  have  you  to  look 
after  them." 

Miss  Isobel's  long,  sallow  face  with  its  dark- 
ringed  eyes  lit  up  for  a  moment. 

"There  is  nothing  I  should  like  better,"  she  said. 
"But  of  course  it 's  out  of  the  question." 

"Why?" 

"Mother  does  n't  approve  of  us  doing  any  work 
at  the  camp.  She  did  make  an  exception  in  the  case 
of  my  niece,  but  Eleanor  was  so  insistent.  Sister 


QUIN  137 

and  I  try  never  to  oppose  mother's  wishes.  It  cuts 
us  off  from  a  great  many  things ;  but  then,  I  contend 
that  our  first  duty  is  to  her." 

Miss  Isobel's  attitude  toward  her  mother  was  that 
of  a  monk  to  his  haircloth  shirt.  She  acquired  so 
much  merit  in  her  friends'  eyes  and  in  her  own  by 
her  patient  endurance  that  the  penance  was  robbed 
ofjialf  its  sting. 

"Things  are  awful  bad  out  at  the  hospital  now," 
went  on  Quin.  "A  fellow  was  telling  me  yesterday 
that  in  some  of  the  wards  they  only  have  one  nurse 
to  two  hundred  patients.  The  epidemic  is  getting 
worse  every  day.  You-all  in  town  here  don't  know 
what  it 's  like  where  there  's  so  many  sick  and  so 
few  to  take  care  of  'em." 

Miss  Isobel,  with  morbid  interest,  insisted  upon 
the  details.  When  Quin  had  finished  his  grim  re- 
cital, she  turned  to  him  with  scared  determination. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  fluttered,  "I  almost  feel  as 
if  I  ought  to  go  in  spite  of  mother's  wishes." 

"Of  course  you  ought,"  Quin  conceded,  "espe- 
cially when  you  are  keeping  a  trained  nurse  here  in 
the  house  who  does  n't  do  a  thing  but  carry  up  trays 
and  sit  around  and  look  at  herself !" 

"I  know  it,"  Miss  Isobel  admitted  miserably. 
"I  've  lain  awake  nights  worrying  over  it.  Sister 
and  I  are  perfectly  able  to  do  what  is  to  be  done. 
But  mother  insists  upon  keeping  the  nurse." 


138  QUIN 

"Well,  she  can't  keep  you,  if  you  really  want  to 
go.  I  guess  you  got  a  right  to  do  your  duty." 

The  word  was  like  a  bugle  call  to  Miss  Isobel. 
She  went  about  all  day  in  a  tremor  of  uncertainty, 
and  at  last  yielded  to  Quin's  insistence,  and,  donning 
Eleanor's  Red  Cross  uniform,  accompanied  him  to 
the  hospital. 

Every  afternoon  after  that,  when  Madam  was 
taking  her  rest,  Miss  Isobel,  feeling  like  Machiavelli 
one  moment  and  Florence  Nightingale  the  next, 
stepped  into  the  carriage,  already  loaded  with  deli- 
cacies, and  proceeded  on  her  errand  of  mercy.  She 
invariably  returned  in  a  twitter  of  subdued  excite- 
ment, and  recounted  her  experiences  with  breathless 
interest  at  the  dinner-table. 

"I  've  never  seen  sister  like  this  before,"  Miss 
Enid  told  Quin.  "She  talks  more  in  an  hour  now 
than  she  used  to  talk  in  a  week,  and  she  seems  so 
happy." 

The  change  wrought  in  Miss  Isobel's  fife  by 
Quin's  advent  into  the  family  was  mild,  however, 
compared  to  the  cataclysm  effected  in  the  life  of 
her  sister.  Miss  Enid,  having  had  her  own  affec- 
tions wrecked  in  early  youth,  spent  her  time  acting 
as  a  sort  of  salvage  corps  following  the  devastation 
caused  by  her  cyclonic  mother.  When  Madam 
shattered  things  to  bits,  Miss  Enid  tried  patiently 
to  remold  them  nearer  to  the  heart's  deeire.  She 
had  acquired  a  habit  of  offsetting  every  disagreeable 


QUIN  139 

remark  by  an  agreeable  one,  and  she  was  apt  to  see 
incipient  halos  hovering  above  heads  where  less 
sympathetic  observers  saw  horns.  When  the  last 
chance  of  getting  rid  of  the  disturbing  but  helpful 
Quin  vanished,  she  set  herself  to  work  to  discover 
his  possibilities  with  the  view  of  undertaking  his 
social  reclamation. 

One  evening,  as  he  was  passing  through  the  hall, 
she  called  him  into  the  library.  It  was  a  small, 
high-ceilinged  room,  with  bookcases  reaching  to  ths 
ceiling,  and  a  massive  mahogany  table  bearing  a 
reading-lamp  with  two  green  shades.  Lincoln  and 
his  Cabinet  held  session  over  one  door,  and  Andrew 
Jackson,  surrounded  by  his  weeping  family,  died 
over  the  other.  Miss  Enid,  with  books 'piled  up  in 
front  of  her,  was  sitting  at  the  table. 

"Quinby,"  she  said, — it  had  been  "Quinby"  ever 
since  the  discovery  of  his  grandfather, — "I  wonder 
if  you  can  help  me?  I  have  a  club  paper  on  the 
1 4th,  and  I  can't  find  a  thing  about  my  subject. 
Can't  you  tell  me  something  about  the  position  of 
women  in  China?" 

Quin,  who  had  come  in  expecting  to  be  called  upon 
to  put  up  a  window  or  fix  the  electric  light,  looked 
at  her  blankly.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  he 
would  have  laughingly  disclaimed  any  knowledge  of 
the  subject;  but  with  Miss  Enid  sitting  there  looking 
up  at  him  with  such  flattering  confidence,  it  was 
different.  Out  of  the  dusty  pigeon  holes  of  his 


140  QUIN 

brain  he  dragged  odds  and  ends  of  information, 
memories  of  the  native  houses,  the  customs  and 
manners  of  the  people,  stories  he  had  heard  from 
his  Chinese  nurses,  street  incidents  he  had  seen, 
stray  impressions  picked  up  here  and  there  by  a 
lively  active  American  boy  in  a  foreign  city. 

"I  ought  to  be  able  to  tell  you  a  lot  more,"  he 
said  apologetically  in  conclusion.  "I  could  if  I 
was  n't  such  a  bonehead." 

"But  you  've  given  me  just  what  I  wanted !"  cried 
Miss  Enid.  "And  you  've  made  it  all  so  vivid.  It 
takes  a  very  good  mind  to  register  details  like  that 
and  to  be  able  to  present  them  in  such  good  order." 

Quin  looked  at  her  quizzically.  He  was  confident 
enough  of  his  abilities  along  other  lines,  but  he  had 
a  low  opinion  of  his  mental  equipment. 

"I  guess  the  only  kind  of  sense  I  got  is  common," 
he  said. 

But  Miss  Enid  would  not  have  it  so.  "No,"  she 
said,  earnestly  regarding  the  toe  of  her  beaded 
slipper;  "your  mind  is  much  above  the  average. 
But  it  is  n't  enough  to  be  born  with  brains — one 
must  know  how  to  use  them." 

"I  suppose  you  mean  I  don't?"  asked  Quin,  also 
regarding  the  beaded  slipper. 

"Nobody  does  who  has  had  no  training,"  Miss 
Enid  gently  suggested.  "It  seems  a  pity  that  a  young 
man  of  your  possibilities  should  have  had  so  little 
opportunity  for  cultivating  them." 


QUIN  141 

"Well,  I  ain't  a  Methuselah!"  said  Quin,  slightly 
piqued.  "What's  the  matter  with  me  beginning 
now?" 

"It 's  rather  late,  I  am  afraid.  Still,  other  men 
have  done  it.  I  wonder  if  you  would  consider  tak- 
ing up  some  night  courses  at  the  university?" 

"I  'd  consider  anything  that  would  get  me  on  in 
the  world.  I  've  got  a  very  particular  reason,  Miss 
Enid,  for — for  wanting  to  get  on." 

She  looked  at  him  with  increased  interest. 

"Really  ?  How  interesting !  You  must  tell  me  all 
about  it  some  day.  But  this  would  keep  you  back 
for  a  time.  You  would  have  to  give  all  your  spare 
hours  to  study,  and  you  might  not  even  be  able  to 
take  the  better  position  they  promised  you  at  the 
factory  this  spring." 

"I  Ve  already  got  it,"  Quin  said.  "Mr.  Bangs 
told  me  to-day  that  I  was  to  start  in  as  shipping  clerk 
Monday  morning.  But  he  'd  let  me  off  nights  if  I  'd 
put  it  up  to  him.  Old  Chester  says " 

Miss  Enid's  Pre-Raphaelite  brows  contracted 
slightly.  "Don't  you  think  it  would  be  more  re- 
spectful  " 

"Sure,"  agreed  Quin;  "I  didn't  mean  any  harm. 
I  like  Mr.  Chester.  He  asked  me  to  come  up  to  his 
rooms  some  night  and  see  his  collection  of  flutes." 

"That  was  like  him,"  Miss  Enid  said  warmly. 
"He  's  always  doing  kind  things  like  that.  I  know 
his  reputation  for  being  diffident  and  hard  to  get 


142  QUIN 

acquainted  with,  but  once  you  get  beneath  the  sur- 
face— 

Quin  was  not  in  the  least  interested  in  Mr.  Ches- 
ter's surface.  He  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  taWe, 
swinging  his  foot  and  staring  off  into  space,  wholly 
absorbed  in  the  idea  of  cultivating  that  newly  dis- 
covered intellect  of  his. 

"Say,  Miss  Enid,"  he  said,  impulsively  interrupt- 
ing her  eulogy  of  Mr.  Chester's  neglected  virtues,  "I 
wish  you  'd  sort  of  take  me  in  hand.  You  know 
what  I  need  better  than  I  do.  If  you'll  get  a  line 
on  that  school  business,  I  '11  start  right  in,  if  I  have 
to  start  in  the  kindergarten.  Hand  out  the  dope  and 
I  '11  take  it.  And  whenever  you  see  me  doing  thing's 
wrong,  or  saying  things  wrong,  I  'd  take  it  as  a 
favor  if  you  'd  jack  me  up." 

Miss  Enid  smiled  ruefully.  "Why,  Ouinby,  that 
is  just  what  we  have  all  been  doing  ever  since  you 
came.  If  you  were  n't  the  best-natured " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  disclaimed  Quin.  "Queen  Vic 
lets  me  have  it  in  the  neck  sometimes,  but  that  '$ 
nothing.  I  Ve  learned  more  since  I  've  been  in  this 
house  than  I  ever  learned  in  all  my  life  put  together. 
Why,  sometimes  I  don't  hardly  know  myself !" 

"Two  negatives,  Ouinby,  make  an  affirmative," 
suggested  Miss  Enid  primly;  and  thus  his  higher 
education  began. 

Miss  Enid  was  right  when  she  said  his  mind  was 
above  the  average.  Its  one  claim  to  superiority  lay 


QUIN  143 

in  the  fact  that  it  had  received  the  little  training  it 
had  at  first  hand.  What  he  knew  of  geography  he 
knew,  not  from  maps,  but  from  actual  observation  in 
many  parts  of  the  world.  Higher  mathematics  were 
unknown  to  him,  but  through  years  of  experience  he 
had  learned  to  solve  the  most  difficult  of  all  prob- 
lems— that  of  making  ends  meet.  He  had  learned 
astronomy  from  a  Norwegian  sailor,  as  they  lay  on 
the  deck  of  a  Pacific  transport  night  after  night  in 
the  southern  seas.  He  had  even  tackled  literature 
during  his  six  months  in  hospital,  when  he  had 
plowed  through  all  the  books  the  wards  provided 
from  Dante's  "Inferno"  to  "Dere  Mable." 

Soon  after  his  talk  with  Miss  Enid  he  decided  to 
call  upon  Mr.  Chester,  not  because  Mr.  Chester  was 
an  enlivening  companion,  but  because  he  was  so 
touchingly  grateful  for  the  casual  friendship  that 
Quin  bestowed  upon  him. 

"He 's  so  sort  of  lonesome,"  Quin  told  Miss 
Leaks.  "When  he  looks  at  me  with  those  big  dog 
eyes  of  his,  I  feel  like  scratching  him  back  of  his 
ear." 

Mr.  Chester,  in  his  small  but  tastefully  furnished 
bachelor  apartment,  outdid  himself  in  his  efforts  to 
be  hospitable.  He  insisted  upon  Quin  taking  the 
best  chair,  gave  him  a  good  cigar,  showed  him  some 
rare  first  editions,  displayed  his  collection  of  musical 
instruments,  and  struggled  valiantly  to  establish  a 
common  footing.  But  there  was  only  one  subject 


144  QUIN 

upon  which  they  could  find  anything  to  say,  and  they 
came  back  again  and  again  to  the  affairs  of  the 
Bartlett  family. 

"Why  don't  you  ever  come  around  and  see  the 
folks?"  Quin  asked  hospitably.  "They  get  awful 
lonesome  with  so  few  people  dropping  in." 

Mr.  Chester  in  evident  embarrassment  flicked  the 
ash  from  his  cigar  and  answered  guardedly : 

"I  used  to  be  there  a  great  deal  in  the  old  days. 
Unfortunately,  Madam  Bartlett  and  I  had  a  mis- 
understanding. As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  not 
crossed  that  threshold  in — let  me  see — it  must  be 
fifteen  years !  It  was  a  party,  I  remember,  given  for 
Eleanor,  the  little  granddaughter,  on  her  fifth  birth- 
day." 

"Oh,  yes  ?'  said  Quin,  finding  Mr.  Chester  for  the 
first  time  interesting.  "They  've  got  a  picture  of  her 
taken  with  Miss  Enid  in  her  party  dress." 

"I  suppose  you  mean  this  ?"  Mr.  Chester  reached 
over  and  took  from  his  desk  a  somewhat  faded 
photograph,  in  a  silver  frame,  of  a  little  girl  leaning 
against  a  big  girl's  shoulders,  both  enveloped  in  a 
cloud  of  white  tulle. 

"Gee,  bat  she  was  pretty!"  exclaimed  Quin,  de- 
vouring every  detail  of  Eleanor's  chubby  features. 

"A  beautiful  woman,"  sighed  Mr.  Chester — and 
Quin,  looking  up  suddenly,  surprised  a  look  in  his 
host's  eyes  that  was  anything  but  numerical. 


QUIN  145 

Obligingly  relinquishing  his  application  of  the 
pronoun  for  Mr.  Chester's,  he  said : 

"She  certainly  thinks  a  lot  of  you !" 

"How  do  you  know?"  demanded  Mr.  Chester. 

"From  the  way  she  talks.  She  says  people  are 
barking  up  the  wrong  tree  when  they  think  you  are 
cold  and  indifferent  and  all  that ;  says  you  've  got 
one  of  the  noblest  natures  she  ever  knew." 

Quin  wtas  appalled  at  the  effect  of  these  words. 
Mr.  Chester's  eyes  got  quite  red  around  the  rims  and 
his  lips  actually  trembled. 

"Poor  Enid !"  he  said.  Then  he  remembered  him- 
self, or  rather  forgot  himself,  and  became  a  Number 
Nine  again,  and  bored  Quin  talking  business  until 
ten  o'clock. 

At  parting  they  shook  hands  cordially,  and  Mr. 
Chester  urged  him  to  come  again. 

"I  wonder  if  you  would  care  to  use  one  of  my 
tickets  for  the  Symphony  Orchestra  next  week  ?"  he 
asked. 

Quin  looked  embarrassed.  He  had  accepted  a 
similar  invitation  the  week  before,  and  had  confided 
to  Rose  Martel  afterward  that  he  "never  heard  such 
a  bully  band  playing  such  bum  music."  But  Mr. 
Chester's  intention  was  so  kind  that  he  could  run  no 
risk  of  offending  him. 

"I  '11  go  if  I  can,"  he  said,  leaving  himself  a  loop- 
hole. 

"Here  is  the  ticket,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "and  in 


146  QUIN 

case  you  do  not  use  it,  perhaps  you  will  so  good  as 
to  pass  it  on  to  some  one  who  can." 

This  suggestion  afforded  Quin  an  inspiration. 

"Say,  Miss  Enid,"  he  said  the  next  morning  at 
breakfast.  "I  want  to  give  you  a  ticket  to  the  Sym- 
phony Orchestra  next  Friday  night.  Will  you  go?" 

"But,  my  dear  boy,"  she  protested  greatly  touched, 
"I  cannot  go  by  myself." 

"You  don't  have  to.  I  'm  going  to  take  you  and 
come  for  you.  You  ain't  going  to  turn  me  down, 
are  you?" 

"Have  you  got  the  ticket?" 

"Right  here.    Now  you  will  go,  won't  you?" 

It  would  have  taken  a  less  susceptible  heart  than 
Miss  Enid's  to  resist  Quin's  persuasive  tones,  and  in 
spite  of  Miss  Isobel's  disapprobation  she  agreed  to 

go- 
Just  what  happened  on  that  opening  night  of  the 
Fine  Arts  Series,  when  two  old  lovers  found  them- 
selves in  embarrassing  proximity  for  the  first  time 
in  fifteen  years,  has  never  been  told.  But  from 
subsequent  events  it  is  safe  to  conclude  that  during 
the  long  program  they  became  much  more  interested 
in  their  own  unfinished  symphony  than  in  Schu- 
bert's, and  when  Quin  came  to  take  Miss  Enid  home, 
he  found  them  in  a  corner  of  the  lobby,  still  so  en- 
grossed in  conversation  that  he  obligingly  walked 
around  the  block  to  give  them  an  additional  five 
minutes. 


CHAPTER  13 

OUIN'S  desire  for  self -improvement  soon  be- 
came an  obsession.  With  Miss  Enid's  assist- 
ance he  got  into  a  night  course  at  the  university,  and 
proceeded  to  attack  his  ignorance  with  something  of 
the  fierce  determination  he  had  attacked  the  Hun  the 
year  before  in  France.  He  plunged  through  bogs 
of  history,  got  hopelessly  entangled  in  the  barbed 
wire  of  mathematics,  had  hand-to-hand  struggles 
with  belligerent  parts  of  speech,  and  more  than  once 
suffered  the  shell-shock  of  despair.  But  his  watch- 
word now,  as  then,  was,  "Up  and  at  'em!"  And 
before  long  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  his 
enemy  gradually  giving  way. 

Having  taken  his  small  public  into  his  confidence 
in  regard  to  his  belated  ambition  to  get  an  educa- 
tion, he  was  surprised  to  find  how  ready  everybody 
was  to  help  him.  Mr.  Chester  not  only  assisted  him 
with  his  mathematics,  but  insisted  upon  taking  him 
to  hear  good  music,  in  the  vain  effort  to  reclaim  an 
ear  hoplessly  attuned  to  jazz  and  rag-time.  Mr. 
Martel  devoted  Sunday  afternoons  to  making  him 
read  aloud  from  the  classics,  with  great  attention  to 
precise  enunciation.  Miss  Isobel  still  looked  after 

147 


348  QUIN 

his  moral  welfare,  and  Miss  Enid  continued  to  de- 
vote herself  to  his  social  improvement.  But  it  re- 
mained for  Madam  Bartlett  to  render  him  the  service 
of  which  he  was  most  in  need.  Whenever  the  bubble 
of  his  self-esteem  threatened  to  carry  him  away,  she 
always  took  pains  to  puncture  it. 

"Don't  let  them  make  a  fool  of  you,  Graham," 
she  said  one  day,  as  she  leaned  heavily  upon  his  arm 
in  a  painful  effort  to  walk  without  her  crutches — an 
experiment  that  she  allowed  neither  one  of  her 
daughters  to  share,  as  they  invariably  limped  with 
her  and  got  frightened  when  she  stumbled.  "They 
all  treat  you  like  a  puppy  that  has  learned  to  walk 
on  its  hind  legs.  Remember  that  you  belong  on 
your  hind  legs.  You  are  only  doing  what  most  boys 
in  your  position  do  in  their  teens.  If  you  were  aa 
smart  as  they  claim,  you  would  have  got  an  educa- 
tion long  ago.  But  young  people  these  days  have 
no  sense!  Just  look  at  my  granddaughter,  for 
instance." 

There  being  no  direction  in  which  he  was  more 
eager  to  look,  Quin  gave  her  his  undivided  attention. 

"I  've  spent  thousands  of  dollars  on  that  girl's 
education,"  Madam  continued,  "and  what  do  you 
suppose  she  elected  to  specialize  in?  'Expression'! 
In  my  day  they  called  it  elocution.  When  a  girl  was 
too  dumb  to  learn  anything  else,  the  teacher  got 
money  out  of  her  parents  by  teaching  her  to  swing 
her  arms  around  her  hear  and  say,  'Curfew  Shall 


QUIN  149 

Not  Ring  To-night.'  Now  they  all  want  to  write 
poetry,  or  play  the  flute,  or  go  on  the  stage,  or  some 
other  fool  thing  like  that." 

"What  about  those  that  want  to  go  on  a  farm? 
That 's  sensible  enough  for  you."  Quin  could  n't 
resist  the  thrust  on  behalf  of  Mr.  Ranny. 

"It 's  sensible  for  a  sensible  person,"  Madam  said 
crossly.  "It 's  where  you  belong,  instead  of  attempt- 
ing all  this  university  business." 

There  were  times  these  days  when  Quin  quite 
agreed  with  Madam.  When  the  tide  of  his  confi- 
dence was  out,  he  regarded  himself  as  a  hopeless 
fool  and  despaired  of  ever  making  up  the  years  he 
had  lost  But  at  high  tide  there  was  no  limit  to  his 
aspirations,  nor  to  his  courage.  While  his  struggles 
at  the  university  kept  him  humble,  his  success  at  the 
factory  constantly  elated  him.  Having  achieved  two 
promotions  in  less  than  three  months,  he  already  saw 
himself  a  prospective  member  of  the  firm.  In  fact, 
he  slightly  anticipated  this  event  by  flinging  himself 
into  the  affairs  of  Bartlett  &  Bangs  with  even  more 
ardor  than  was  advisable.  Hardly  a  day  passed  that 
he  did  not  seek  a  chance  to  apprise  Mr.  Bangs  of 
some  colossal  scheme  or  startling  innovation  that 
would  revolutionize  the  business. 

"See  here,  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Bangs,  when  this 
had  occurred  once  too  often;  "I  pay  you  to  work 
for  me,  not  to  think  for  me." 

"But  they  are  the  same  thing,"  urged  Quin,  with 


150  QUIN 

appalling  temerity.  "Why,  I  can't  sleep  nights  for 
thinking  how  other  firms  are  walking  away  with  our 
business.  Smith  &  Snelling,  up  in  Illinois,  have  got 
a  plant  that 's  half  as  big  as  ours,  and  they  export 
twice  as  much  stuff  as  we  do.  And  their  plows  can't 
touch  ours;  they  ain't  in  a  thousand  miles  of  'em." 

"How  do  you  know  ?" 

"I  've  seen  'em  both  in  action,  and  I  Ve  heard  men 
talk  about  'em.  Why,  if  we  could  get  a  start  in  the 
Orient,  and  open  up  an  agency  in  Japan  and 
China " 

"There — that  will  do,"  said  Mr.  Bangs  testily; 
"you  get  back  to  your  work.  You  talk  too  much." 

Both  Mr.  Ranny  and  Mr.  Chester  warned  Quin 
again  and  again  that  he  was  not  supposed  to  emerge 
from  the  obscurity  of  his  humble  position  as  ship- 
ping clerk.  But  Quin  was  the  descendant  of  a  long 
line  of  missionaries  whose  duty  it  was  to  reform. 
The  effect  of  his  heredity  and  early  environment  was 
not  only  to  increase  his  self-reliance  and  intensify 
his  motive  power,  but  to  commit  him  to  ideals  as 
well.  Once  he  recognized  a  condition  as  being  ca- 
pable of  improvement,  he  could  not  rest  until  he  had 
tried  to  better  it. 

It  was  not  until  the  approach  of  Easter  that  his 
mind  began  to  stray  from  the  highroads  of  industry 
and  learning  into  the  byways  of  pleasure.  From 
certain  signs  about  the  Bartlett  house  it  was  apparent 
that  preparations  were  in  progress  for  an  event  of 


QUIN  151 

importance.  Paperhangers  and  cleaners  came  and 
went,  consultations  were  held  daily  concerning  new 
rugs  and  curtains.  Miss  Enid  and  Miss  Isobel  gave 
tentative  orders  and  Madam  promptly  counter- 
manded them.  Workmen  were  engaged  and  dis- 
missed and  reengaged.  The  door  to  the  room  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  which  he  knew  to  be  Eleanor's, 
now  stood  open,  revealing  a  pink-and-white  bower. 
Stray  remarks  now  and  then  concerning  caterers  and 
music  and  invitations  further  excited  his  fancy,  and 
he  waited  impatiently  for  the  time  when  he  should 
be  formally  apprised  of  Eleanor's  home-coming. 

Never  before  in  his  life  had  he  been  so  inordi- 
nately happy.  He  burst  into  song  at  strange  times 
and  places,  and  had  to  be  spoken  to  more  than  once 
for  whistling  in  the  office.  Instead  of  studying  at 
night,  he  frequently  lapsed  into  delectable  reveries 
in  which  he  anticipated  the  bliss  of  being  under  the 
same  roof  with  Eleanor.  He  already  heard  himself 
telling  her  about  his  promotions,  his  work  at  the 
university,  his  capture  of  her  family.  And  always 
he  pictured  her  as  listening  to  him  as  she  had  that 
day  at  the  Hawaiian  Garden,  with  lips  ready  to  smile 
or  tremble  and  eyes  that  sparkled  like  little  pools  of 
water  in  the  sunlight. 

Occasionally  reason  suggested  that  she  would  be 
at  home  very  little  and  that  the  obnoxious  Phipps 
would  be  lying  in  wait  for  her  whenever  she  went 
abroad.  But  Phipps  was  forbidden  the  house,  and 


152  QUIN 

with  such  a  handicap  as  that  he  surely  was  out  of 
the  running.  Besides,  Miss  Eleanor  had  probably 
forgotten  all  about  the  Captain  by  this  time !  Thus 
reassuring  himself,  the  fatuous  Quin  loosened  the 
reins  of  his  fancy  and  rode  full  tilt  for  an  inevitable 
fall. 

The  first  intimation  of  it  came  the  week  before 
Easter,  when  Madam  presented  him  with  a  hand- 
some watch  in  recognition  of  his  services.  The  gift 
itself  was  sufficiently  overwhelming,  but  the  formal 
politeness  of  the  presentation  sounded  ominous. 
Madam  suggested  almost  tactfully,  in  conclusion, 
that,  now  she  was  on  her  feet  again,  he  need  not 
feel  obligated  to  remain  longer. 

"But  I  don't  feel  obligated !"  he  burst  out  impet- 
uously. "I  'd  rather  stay  here  than  anywhere  in  the 
world." 

"Well,  you  can't  stay,"  said  Madam,  whose  small 
stock  of  courtesy  had  been  exhausted  on  her  initial 
speech.  "My  granddaughter  is  bringing  some  girls 
home  with  her  for  the  Easter  vacation,  and  I  need 
your  room." 

"But  I  '11  sleep  in  the  third  story,"  urged  Quin 
wildly.  "You  can  billet  me  any  old  place — I  don't 
care  where  you  put  me." 

"No,"  said  Madam  firmly.    "It's  best  for  you  to 

go." 

That  night  at  dinner  the  sisters  did  what  they 
could  to  soften  the  blow  for  Quin.  They  gave  vague 


QUIN  153 

excuses  that  did  not  excuse,  and  explanations  that 
did  not  explain. 

"Of  course,  we  have  no  idea  of  losing  sight  of 
you,"  Miss  Enid  said  with  forced  brightness.  "You 
must  drop  in  often  to  tell  us  how  you  are  getting 
along  and  to  make  mother  laugh.  You  are  the  only 
person  I  know  who  can  do  that." 

"Yes,  and  we  shall  count  on  you  to  come  to  sup- 
per every  Sunday  evening,"  Miss  Isobel  added; 
"then  we  can  go  to  church  together." 

"Next  Sunday?"  asked  Quin,  faintly  hopeful. 

"Well,  no,"  said  Miss  Isobel.  "For  the  next  two 
weeks  we  shall  be  occupied  with  the  young  ladies 
and  their  friends;  but  after  that  we  shall  look  for 
you." 

Quin  looked  at  the  two  gentle  sisters  in  dumb 
amazement.  How  could  they  sit  there  saying  such 
kind  things  to  him,  and  at  the  same  time  shut  the 
door  between  him  and  the  great  opportunity  of  his 
life?  What  did  it  all  mean?  Where  had  he  failed? 
Surely  there  was  some  terrible  misunderstanding! 
In  his  complete  bewilderment  he  created  quite  the 
most  dreadful  blunder  that  is  registered  against  him 
in  his  long  list  of  social  sins. 

"But  don't  you  expect  me  to  meet  the  young 
ladies?"  he  blurted  out  indignantly.  "Aren't  you 
going  to  ask  me  to  the  party  ?M 

A  horrible  pause  followed,  during  which  the  walls 
seemed  to  rock  around  him  and  he  felt  the  blood 


154  QUIN 

surging  to  his  head.  He  was  starting  up  from  the 
table  when  Miss  Enid  laid  a  quieting  hand  on  his 
sleeve. 

"Of  course  you  are  to  be  invited,  Quinby,"  she 
said  in  her  suavest  tones;  "the  invitation  will  reach 
you  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  14 

ON  the  night  of  the  Bartlett  party,  Quin  stood 
before  the  small  mirror  of  his  old  room  over 
the  Martels'  kitchen  and  surveyed  himself  in  sec- 
tions. The  first  view,  obtained  by  standing  on  a 
chair,  was  the  least  satisfactory;  for,  in  spite  of  the 
most  correct  of  wing-toed  dancing-shoes,  there  was 
a  space  between  them  and  the  cuffs  of  his  trousers 
that  no  amount  of  adjustment  could  diminish.  The 
second  section  was  far  more  reassuring.  Having 
amassed  what  to  him  seemed  a  fortune,  for  the  pur- 
chase of  a  dress-suit,  Quin  had  allowed  himself  to 
be  persuaded  by  the  voluble  and  omniscient  salesman 
to  put  all  of  his  money  into  a  resplendent  dinner- 
coat  instead.  The  claim  for  the  coat  that  it  was 
"the  classiest  garment  in  the  city"  was  reinforced 
by  the  fact  that  it  had  adorned  the  dummy  in  the 
shop  window  for  seven  consecutive  days  and  occa- 
sioned much  comment  by  its  numerous  "novelties." 
Quin  had  no  doubts  whatever  about  the  coat.  Its 
glory  not  only  dimmed  his  eyes  to  the  shortcomings 
of  the  trousers,  which  he  had  rented  for  the  occa- 
sion, but  even  made  him  forget  the  aching  tooth 
that  had  been  harassing  him  all  day. 

155 


156  QUIN 

As  he  went  down  to  present  himself  for  the  fam- 
ily inspection,  it  is  useless  to  deny  that  he  was  very 
much  impressed  with  the  elegance  and  correctness 
of  his  costume.  It  had  been  achieved  with  infinite 
pains  and  considerable  expense.  Nothing  was  lack- 
ing, not  even  a  silver  cigarette-case,  bearing  an  un- 
known monogram,  which  he  had  purchased  at  a 
pawn-shop  the  day  before. 

His  advent  into  the  sitting-room  produced  a  grati- 
fying sensation. 

"Ha!  Who  conies  here!"  cried  Mr.  Martel.  "The 
glass  of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  form."  Then  he 
came  forward  for  close  inspection.  "Had  n't  you 
any  better  studs  than  those,  my  boy?" 

"They  are  the  ones  that  came  in  the  shirt,"  said 
Quin,  instantly  on  the  defensive. 

"Well,  they  hardly  do  justice  to  the  occasion. 
Step  upstairs,  Cassius,  and  get  my  pearl  ones  out  of 
the  top  chiffonier  drawer." 

"I  wish  Captain  Phipps  could  see  you,"  said  Rose 
admiringly.  "You  should  have  seen  his  face  when 
I  told  him  you  were  going  to-night !  He  was  n't 
invited,  you  know." 

"Where  did  you  see  him?"  Quin  asked,  brushing 
a  speck  of  lint  from  the  toe  of  his  shining  shoe. 

<rHere.  He  's  been  coming  twice  a  week  to  work 
with  Papa  Claude  ever  since  you  left.  Give  'em  to 
me,  Cass" — this  to  her  brother.  "I  '11  put  them  in." 


QUIN  157 

"Are  n't  they  too  little  for  the  buttonholes?"  asked 
Quin  anxiously. 

"Not  enough  to  matter,"  Rose  insisted.  Then,  as 
she  finished,  she  added  in  a  whisper:  "Tell  Nell 
somebody  sent  his  love." 

"Nothing  doing,"  laughed  Quin  with  a  superior 
shrug;  "somebody  else  is  faking  his." 

The  curb  was  lined  with  automobiles  by  the  time 
he  arrived  at  the  Bartletts'.  The  house  looked 
strangely  unfamiliar  with  its  blaze  of  lights  and 
throng  of  arriving  guests.  He  instinctively  felt  in 
his  pocket  for  his  latch-key,  and  then  remembered, 
and  waited  for  the  strange  butler  to  open  the  door. 
The  inside  of  the  house  looked  even  less  natural  than 
the  outside.  The  floors  were  cleared  for  dancing 
and  the  mantels  were  banked  high  with  flowers  and 
ferns.  Under  the  steps  the  musicians  were  already 
tuning  their  instruments. 

"Upstairs,  sir;  first  room  to  your  left,"  said  the 
important  person  at  the  door,  and  Quin  followed 
the  stream  of  black-coated  figures  who  were  filing 
up  the  stairs  and  turning  into  the  room  he  had  occu- 
pied a  short  week  ago.  It  was  just  as  he  had  left 
it,  except  for  the  picture  that  no  longer  adorned  the 
mantel. 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  lofty  attendant  who 
took  his  overcoat,  "your  stud 's  come  loose." 

"I  bet  the  damn  thing 's  going  to  do  that  all 


158  QUIN 

night,"  Quin  said  confidentially.  "Say,  you  have  n't 
got  a  pin,  have  you?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir,  it  could  n't  be  pinned,"  protested  the 
man  in  a  shocked  tone. 

Quin  adjusted  it  as  best  he  could,  took  a  final  look 
at  himself  in  the  mirror,  and  proceeded  downstairs. 
Arrived  in  the  lower  hall,  he  glanced  about  him  in 
some  perplexity.  Not  a  member  of  the  family  was 
visible,  and  he  looked  in  vain  for  a  familiar  face.  In 
his  uncertainty  as  to  his  next  move,  he  went  back 
to  the  pantry  and  got  himself  a  glass  of  water. 

As  he  was  returning  to  the  hall,  some  one  plucked 
at  his  sleeve  and  whispered : 

"Hello  there,  Graham!" 

Turning  around,  he  encountered  the  gaping  mouth 
of  a  shining  saxophone,  behind  which  beamed  the 
no  less  shining  countenance  of  Barney  McGinness. 

Barney  had  been  in  the  io5th  Infantry  Band,  and 
he  and  Quin  had  returned  from  France  on  the  same 
transport.  They  exchanged  hearty  greetings  under 
their  breath. 

"Serving  here  to-night,  are  you  ?"  asked  Barney. 

"Serving?"  repeated  Quin;  then  he  laughed  good- 
naturedly.  "You  got  another  guess  coming  your 
way,  Barney." 

"So  it 's  the  parlor  instid  of  the  pantry,  is  it? 
I  'd  'a'  seen  it  for  meself  if  I  had  used  me  eyes  in- 
stead of  me  mouth.  You  look  grand  enough  to  be 
doing  a  turn  on  the  vawdyville." 


QUIN  159 

Quin  tried  not  to  expand  his  chest  in  pride,  for 
fear  the  movement  would  disturb  those  tempera- 
mental studs.  He  would  fain  have  lingered  indefi- 
nitely in  the  warmth  of  Barney's  admiring  smile,  but 
the  signal  for  the  first  dance  was  already  given,  and 
he  moved  nervously  out  into  the  throng  again. 

Now  that  the  moment  had  come  for  him  to  meet 
Eleanor — the  moment  he  had  longed  for  by  day  and 
dreamed  of  by  night, — he  found  himself  overcome 
with  terrible  diffidence.  Suppose  she  did  not  want 
to  see  him  again?  Suppose  she  should  be  angry  at 
him  for  coming  to  her  party?  Suppose  she  should 
be  too  taken  up  with  all  these  strange  friends  of  hers 
to  have  time  to  dance  with  him? 

After  obstructing  social  traffic  in  the  hall  for  sev- 
eral moments,  he  encountered  Miss  Enid.  She  was 
all  a  lavender  flutter,  with  sleeves  floating  and  scarf 
dangling,  and  she  wore  an  air  of  subdued  excitement 
that  made  her  almost  pretty. 

"Why,  Quinby!"  she  said,  and  her  eyes  swept 
him.  "Have  you  spoken  to  mother  yet  ?" 

"No;  where  is  she?" 

"In  the  library.  And  sister  will  present  you  to 
the  young  ladies  in  the  parlor." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  she  placed  a  timid 
hand  on  Quin's  arm. 

"But  before  you  go  in  would  you  mind  doing 
something  for  me?  Will  you  watch  the  front  door 


160  QUIN 

and  let  me  know  as  soon  as  Mr.  Chester  arrives?" 

"Mr.  Chester?" 

"Yes.  You  see,  it 's  been  a  great  many  years 
since  he  came  to  the  house,  and  I  want  to — to  make 
sure  that  he  is  properly  welcomed." 

"I  '11  wait  for  him,"  said  Quin,  glad  of  any  excuse 
for  not  entering  that  crowded  parlor. 

Lovely  young  creatures  in  rainbow  tints  drifted 
down  the  stairs  and  disappeared  beyond  the  por- 
tieres ;  supercilious  young  men,  all  in  tail  coats  and 
most  of  them  wearing  white  gloves,  passed  and  re- 
passed  him. 

Quin  was  experiencing  the  wholly  new  sensation 
of  timidity.  In  vain  he  sought  reassuring  reflections 
from  the  long  pier-glass,  as  he  did  guard  duty  in  the 
front  hall  pending  Mr.  Chester's  arrival.  He  'd  be 
all  right,  he  assured  himself,  as  soon  as  he  got  to 
know  some  of  the  people.  Once  he  had  spoken  to 
Eleanor  and  been  sure  of  her  welcome,  he  did  n't 
care  what  happened.  Meanwhile  he  worked  with 
his  shirt-stud  and  tried  not  to  think  about  his  tooth. 

It  was  late  when  Mr.  Chester  arrived,  and  by  the 
time  he  had  been  placed  in  Miss  Enid's  care  the  re- 
ceiving line  in  the  parlor  had  dissolved  and  the  dance 
was  in  full  swing. 

Quin  made  his  way  back  to  the  library  and  pre- 
sented his  belated  respects  to  Madam,  who  sat  en- 
throned in  state  where  she  could  command  the  field 
and  direct  the  manoeuvers.  She  was  resplendent  in 


QUIN  161 

black  velvet  and  old  lace.  A  glittering  comb  topped 
her  high  white  pompadour,  and  a  dog-collar  of 
diamonds  encircled  her  wrinkled  neck. 

"Well,  I  am  glad  one  man  lias  the  manners  to 
come  and  speak  to  his  hostess!"  she  said  grimly, 
extending  her  hand  to  Quin.  "The  young  lords  of 
the  present  day  seem  to  consider  a  lady's  house  a 
public  dance-hall.  Sit  down  and  talk  to  me." 

Quin  did  n't  wish  to  sit  down.  He  wished  very 
ardently  to  plunge  into  that  dancing  throng  and  find 
Eleanor.  But  the  old  lady's  vise-like  grip  closed  on 
him,  and  he  had  to  content  himself  with  watching 
the  couples  circle  past  the  door  while  he  listened  to 
a  tirade  against  present-day  customs. 

"Why,  this  dancing  is  indecent!"  stormed  the  old 
lady.  "I  never  saw  anything  like  it  in  my  life !  Look 
at  that  little  Morris  chit  with  her  cheek  plastered 
up  to  Johnnie  Rawlins' !  If  somebody  does  n't  speak 
to  her,  I  will!  I  will  not  have  such  dancing  in  my 
house !  And  there  's  Kitty  Carey,  the  one  with  no 
back  to  her  dress.  What  her  mother  is  thinking 
of —  Mercy!  Look  at  the  length  of  that  skirt!" 

It  was  not  until  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ranny  arrived,  and 
Madam  had  no  time  for  any  one  else,  that  Quin  was 
able  to  escape. 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  Miss  Eleanor?" 
he  asked  eagerly  of  Miss  Isobel,  whom  he  en- 
countered in  the  back  hall. 

Miss  Isobel,  looking  thoroughly  uncomfortable  in 


162  QUIN 

a  high-necked,  long-sleeved  evening  dress,  sighed 
anxiously : 

"I  am  looking  for  her  myself.  She  has  had  all 
the  windows  opened,  and  mother  gave  express  orders 
that  they  were  to  be  kept  closed.  Would  you  mind 
putting  this  one  down?  It  makes  such  a  draught." 

It  was  a  high  window  and  an  obstinate  one,  and 
by  the  time  it  was  down  Quin's  cuffs  were  six  inches 
beyond  his  coat  sleeves  and  his  vest  was  bulging. 

"I  don't  want  that  window  down,"  said  a  spirited 
voice  behind  him.  "I  wish  you  had  left  it  alone." 

"Eleanor!"  said  Miss  Isobel  reprovingly.  "He  is 
doing  it  at  my  request.  It  is  our  young  friend  Quin- 
by  Graham." 

Quin  wheeled  about  in  dismay,  and  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  a  slender  vision  in  shimmering  blue 
and  silver,  a  vision  with  flushed  cheeks  and  angry 
eyes,  who  looked  at  him  in  blank  amazement,  then 
burst  out  laughing. 

"Why,  for  mercy  sakes!  I  never  would  have 
known  you.  You  look  so — so  different  in  civilian 
clothes." 

The  words  were  what  he  had  expected,  but  the 
intonation  was  not.  It  seemed  to  call  for  some  sort 
of  explanation. 

"It 's  my  face/'  he  blurted  out  apologetically, 
drawing  attention  to  the  fact  that  of  all  others  he 
most  wished  to  ignore.  "Had  an  abscess  in  my 
tooth;  it 's  swelled  my  jaw  up  a  bit." 


QUIN  163 

Eleanor  was  not  in  the  least  concerned  with  his 
affliction.  A  civilian  with  the  toothache  could  not 
expect  the  consideration  of  a  hero  with  a  shrapnel 
wound.  Moreover,  this  was  her  first  appearance  in 
the  role  of  hostess  at  a  large  party,  and  she  fluttered 
about  like  a  distracted  humming-bird. 

Miss  Isobel  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  her  bare 
shoulder. 

"Did  you  know  they  were  smoking  in  the  dining- 
room,  Nellie  ?  Even  some  of  the  girls  are  smoking. 
If  mother  finds  it  out  I  don't  know  what  she  will 
do!" 

"Call  out  the  fire  department,  probably,"  said 
Eleanor  flippantly. 

"But  listen!  She  will  speak  to  them — you  know 
she  will.  Don't  you  think  you  can  stop  them?" 

"Of  course  I  can't!"  declared  Eleanor,  her  anger 
rekindling.  "And  we  can't  dance  with  the  windows 
down,  either.  Oh,  dear,  I  wish  we  'd  never  tried  to 
give  a  party !" 

"May  I  have  the  next  dance,  Miss  Eleanor?"  Quin 
ventured  at  this  inopportune  moment. 

She  turned  upon  him  a  perturbed  face.  "It's 
taken,"  she  said  absently.  "They  are  all  taken  until 
after  supper.  I  '11  give  you  one  then."  And  with 
this  casual  promise  she  hurried  away. 

Quin  wandered  disconsolately  into  the  hall  again. 
Everybody  seemed  to  know  everybody  else.  Appar- 
ently he  was  the  one  outsider.  At  the  soldier  dances 


164  QUIN 

to  which  he  was  accustomed,  he  was  used  to  boldly 
asking  any  girl  on  the  floor  to  dance,  sure  of  a  wel- 
coming smile.  But  here  it  was  different.  It  seemed 
that  a  fellow  must  wait  for  an  introduction  which 
nobody  took  the  trouble  to  give.  He  leaned  against 
the  door- jamb  and  indulged  in  bitter  reflections. 
Much  that  bunch  cared  whether  he  had  risked  his 
life  for  his  country  or  not!  The  girls  had  already 
forgotten  which  were  the  heroes  and  which  were  the 
slackers.  He  did  n't  care  f  All  he  had  come  for, 
anyhow,  was  to  see  Eleanor  Bartlett.  Just  wait  until 
he  got  her  all  to  himself  in  that  dance  after 
supper 

Finding  the  strain  of  being  a  spectator  instead  of 
a  participant  no  longer  endurable,  he  wandered  up- 
stairs and  bathed  his  face.  The  pain  was  getting 
worse  and  he  had  a  horrible  suspicion  that  the  swell- 
ing was  increasing.  In  the  men's  dressing-room  he 
found  a  game  of  craps  in  progress,  and,  upon  being 
asked  to  join,  was  so  grateful  for  being  included  in 
any  group  that  he  accepted  gladly,  and  for  half  an 
hour  forgot  his  woes  while  he  won  enough  to  repay 
Cass  the  sum  he  had  advanced  on  the  dress-shirt. 

"Stud  's  undone,  old  chap,"  said  his  opponent  as 
he  paid  his  debt. 

"Thanks,  so  it  is,'*  said  Quin  nonchalantly. 

As  he  went  downstairs  he  encountered  Miss  Enid 
and  Mr.  Chester  sitting  under  the  palms  on  the 
landing  in  intimate  tete-a-tete. 


QUIN  165 

"Will  you  dance  this  with  me,  Miss  Enid?"  asked 
Quin,  leading  a  forlorn  hope. 

"I  am  afraid  I  don't  know  those  new  dances," 
said  Miss  Enid  evasively,  "the  only  thing  I  can  do  is 
to  waltz." 

"You  mean  a  one-step?" 

"She  means  a  waltz,"  Mr.  Chester  repeated  im- 
pressively, "the  most  beautiful  and  dignified  dance 
ever  invented.  Shall  we  show  him,  Miss  Enid  ?" 

And,  to  Quin's  unbounded  amazement,  Mr.  Ches- 
ter and  Miss  Enid  proceeded  to  demonstrate,  there 
on  the  narrow  landing,  the  grace  and  beauty  of  the 
"glide  waltz";  and  so  absorbed  were  they  in  the 
undertaking  that  they  did  not  even  know  when  he 
ceased  to  be  a  spectator  and  Miss  Isobel  became  one. 

The  latter,  inexpressibly  shocked  at  the  way 
things  were  going  in  the  ball-room,  was  on  her  way 
upstairs,  when  she  was  confronted  with  the  amazing 
spectacle  of  her  sister  and  the  bald-headed  Mr.  Ches- 
ter revolving  solemnly  and  rhythmically  in  each 
other's  arms  on  the  shadowy  landing. 

The  only  doubt  that  Miss  Isobel  had  ever  har- 
bored concerning  an  all-wise  Providence  arose  from 
the  passage  in  Scripture  that  read :  "Man  and  woman 
created  He  them."  In  her  secret  heart  she  had  al- 
ways felt  that  some  other,  less  material  scheme  might 
have  been  evolved.  Softly  retracing  her  steps,  she 
slipped  back  downstairs  and  took  her  place  beside  her 
increasingly  indignant  mother. 


166  QUIN 

The  new  wine  was  proving  entirely  too  much  for 
the  old  bottles.  Madam's  ultimatums  and  Miss 
Isobel's  protests  had  alike  proved  unavailing.  The 
young  people  invaded  the  house  like  a  swarm  of 
noisy  locusts.  Between  dances  they  flew  out  to  the 
porch,  some  of  the  couples  dashing  out  to  sit  in 
automobiles,  others  driving  madly  around  the  block 
to  the  incessant  honking  of  horns.  Then  the  music 
wrould  call  them  back,  and  in  they  would  pour,  sing- 
ing and  whistling  as  they  came,  shouting  jests  from 
room  to  room,  playing  ball  with  the  decorations, 
utterly  regardless  of  everything  save  their  own  rest- 
less, reckless,  daring  selves.  Maddest  of  them  all 
was  Eleanor,  who,  conscious  of  the  stern  disap- 
proval of  the  family  and  rebelling  against  their  at- 
tempted restraint,  led  the  merry  revolt  against  old- 
time  proprieties  and  took  her  fling,  for  once  regard- 
less of  consequences. 

Ouin,  meanwhile,  had  gone  back  to  the  dressing- 
room  and  was  making  frantic  efforts  to  reduce  the 
swelling  in  his  face.  If  he  could  only  keep  it  down 
until  after  his  dance  with  Eleanor,  it  might  swell 
to  the  dimensions  of  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's!  A 
hurried  survey  from  over  the  banisters  assured  him 
that  supper  was  soon  to  be  served,  and  he  went  back 
to  his  hot  applications  with  renewed  courage. 

But  ill  luck  pursued  him.  No  sooner  had  the 
guests  been  seated  at  small  round  tables  and  the  re- 
freshments served,  than  some  one  remembered  that 


QUIN  167 

a  big  charity  ball  was  in  progress  at  the  armory,  and 
it  was  proposed  that  the  evening  be  concluded  there. 
The  suggestion  met  with  instant  approval.  In  spite 
of  the  indignant  protests  of  the  elders,  the  gay  com- 
pany, headed  by  Eleanor,  left  the  half -eaten  ices 
melting  on  their  plates,  and,  rising  in  a  body,  took 
noisy  and  immediate  flight. 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  elaborately  decorated  rooms 
were  empty,  the  musicians  were  packing  their  instru- 
ments, the  caterers  were  removing  trays  of  untasted 
food,  and  Quin,  standing  dazed  in  the  deserted  hall, 
one  hand  clasping  his  shirt-front  and  the  other  on 
his  face,  was  trying  in  vain  to  realize  that  the  party 
which  he  had  inspired  had  proved  his  Waterloo ! 


CHAPTER  15 

THE  next  day  Quin  sold  his  dinner-coat  for  a 
fourth  of  -what  he  paid  for  it,  and  forswore 
society  forever.  There  was  absolutely  nothing  in 
it,  he  assured  the  Martels,  a  conviction  that  assorted 
strangely  with  the  fact  that  he  devoured  the  columns 
in  the  daily  papers  devoted  to  the  doings  of  the  social 
elect,  and  waded  through  endless  lists  under  the  cap- 
tion "Among  Those  Present."  Every  hour  in  the 
day  he  invented  a  new  scheme  for  seeing  Eleanor, 
which  pride  alone  prevented  him  from  carrying  out. 
He  wrote  her  a  dozen  notes,  all  of  which  he  tore 
up;  he  went  out  of  his  way  to  pass  through  the 
streets  where  he  might  catch  a  glimpse  of  her,  and 
seized  the  slightest  excuse  for  errands  to  the  Bart- 
lett  house.  But  the  days  of  her  holiday  slipped 
away,  and  he  neither  saw  nor  heard  from  her. 

Each  morning  at  breakfast  Mr.  Martel  would  say 
hopefully,  "Well,  Eleanor  will  surely  grace  our 
humble  abode  to-day,"  or,  "Something  tells  me  my 
lady-bird  will  come  to-day!"  And  each  evening 
Quin  would  rush  home  from  work  buoyed  up  by  the 
hope  that  he  might  find  her. 

"I  bet  she'd  come  to-day  if  she  knew  Captain 

168 


QUIN  169 

Phipps  was  going  to  be  here,"  said  Myrna  one  morn- 
ing, wagging  her  head  wisely. 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?"  Rose  asked 
sharply. 

"They  're  sweethearts,"  said  Myrna,  with  the 
frightful  astuteness  of  twelve.  "And  old  Madam 
Bartlett  won't  let  him  come  to  the  house,  and  Nell 
has  to  see  him  on  the  sly." 

"Tut,  tut,  child !  Where  did  you  get  that  notion  ?'" 
asked  Mr.  Martel,  peeling  an  orange  with  his  little 
fingers  gracefully  extended.  "Harold  Phipps  is  years 
older  than  Nellie.  He  is  interested  solely  in  her  pro- 
fessional career.  He  has  a  lovely,  detached  soul,  as 
impersonal —  What  is  the  matter,  Rosalind  ?" 

"Nothing — crumb  went  down  wrong.  What  are 
you  laughing  at,  Quinby  Graham?" 

"Another  crumb,"  said  Quin. 

Between  him  and  Rose  there  had  sprung  up  a  cu- 
rious intimacy.  All  sorts  of  little  wireless  messages 
flashed  between  them,  and  Rose  always  seemed  to 
know  things  without  being  told.  She  had  discovered 
long  ago  that  he  was  in  love  with  Eleanor,  and,  in- 
stead of  scoffing  at  him  or  teasing  him,  she  did  him 
the  supreme  favor  of  listening  to  him.  Many  a  night, 
after  the  rest  of  the  family  had  gone  to  bed,  they 
lingered  on  before  the  fire  in  the  shabby  sitting- 
room,  Rose  invariably  curled  up  in  the  sofa  corner 
and  Quin  stretched  out  on  the  floor  with  his  head 
against  her  knees. 


170  QUIN 

After  his  somewhat  rigorous  discipline  at  the 
Bartletts'  it  was  like  slipping  out  of  the  harness  to 
be  back  at  the  Martels'.  They  held  him  up  to  no 
standard,  and  offered  no  counsel  of  perfection.  He 
could  tell  his  best  stories  without  fear  of  reproof, 
laugh  as  loud  as  he  liked,  and  whistle  and  sing  with- 
out disturbing  anybody.  Rose  mended  his  clothes, 
doctored  him  when  he  was  sick,  petted  him  in  pub- 
lic as  well  as  in  private,  and  even  made  free  to  pawn 
his  uniform  when  the  collector  threatened  to  turn 
off  the  gas  if  the  bill  was  not  paid. 

One  evening,  coming  in  unexpectedly,  he  had  sur- 
prised her  kissing  Harold  Phipps  in  the  front  hall. 
Harold's  back  had  been  to  the  door,  and  at  a  signal 
from  Rose  Quin  had  beat  a  hasty  retreat.  She  ex- 
plained later  that  she  was  letting  the  magnificent 
Harold  have  just  enough  rope  to  hang  himself;  and 
Quin,  glad  of  anything  that  deflected  Phipps  from 
the  pursuit  of  Eleanor,  laughed  with  her  over  the 
secret  flirtation  and  failed  to  see  the  danger  lights 
that  hung  in  her  eyes. 

Financial  affairs  were  evidently  going  worse  than 
usual  with  the  Martels  these  days.  Cass,  adamant 
in  his  resolve  to  pay  off  the  numerous  debts  con- 
tracted by  the  family  during  his  absence  abroad, 
refused  to  contribute  more  than  the  barest  living 
expenses.  Rose  had  given  up  the  dancing  classes 
and  taken  a  position  in  one  of  the  big  department- 
stores.  Edwin  B.  had  had  to  leave  high  school  and 


QUIN  171 

go  to  work.  The  adopted  baby  had  been  regretfully 
sent  to  the  Orphans'  Home.  The  little  brown  house 
was  reefing  all  its  sails  in  a  vain  effort  to  weather 
the  coming  storm. 

The  one  member  of  the  family  who  soared  on 
wings  of  hope  above  the  sordid  facts  of  the  situation 
was  Claude  Martel.  After  years  of  search,  he  had 
at  last  found  the  generous  benefactor,  the  noble 
young  patron,  who  recognized  the  merit  of  his  work. 
They  spent  hours  together  elaborating  the  plot  of 
"Phantom  Love"  and  discussing  every  detail  of  its 
construction.  Occasionally  on  Saturday  night  Mr. 
Martel  would  mention  quite  confidentially  to  Quin 
that,  owing  to  some  delayed  payments,  he  was  a 
little  pressed  for  ready  money  and  that  a  small  loan 
would  be  appreciated.  This  request  invariably  re- 
sulted in  an  elaborate  Sunday  dinner,  capped  with 
a  couple  of  bottles  of  Haut  Sauterne  in  which  Mr. 
Martel  took  the  precaution  of  drinking  everybody's 
health  twice  over. 

Ten  days  after  the  Easter  party,  when  Qtiin  had 
almost  despaired  of  seeing  Eleanor  at  all,  he  found 
her  car  parked  in  front  of  the  house  when  he  re- 
turned in  the  evening.  Mounting  the  front  steps 
two  at  a  time,  he  opened  the  door  with  his  latch-key, 
then  paused  with  his  hand  still  on  the  knob.  Queer 
sounds  were  coming  from  the  sitting-room — sounds 
of  a  man's  agitated  voice,  broken  by  sobs.  Unde- 


172  QUIN 

terred  by  any  sense  of  delicacy,  Quin  pushed  open 
the  door  and  bolted  in. 

Mr.  Martel  was  sitting  in  the  arm-chair  in  an  atti- 
tude Kmg  Lear  might  have  envied.  Every  line  of 
his  face  and  figure  suggested  unmitigated  tragedy. 
Even  the  tender  ministrations  of  Eleanor  Bartlett 
who  knelt  beside  him,  failed  to  console  him  or  to 
stem  the  tide  of  his  lamentations. 

"What 's  the  matter  ?"  cried  Quin  in  alarm. 
"What  has  happened?" 

Papa  Claude,  resting  one  expressive  hand  on 
Eleanor's  head,  extended  the  other  to  Quin. 

"Come  in,  my  boy,  come  in,"  he  said  brokenly. 
"You  are  one  of  us ;  nothing  shall  be  kept  from  you 
in  this  hour  of  great  affliction.  I  am  ruined,  Quin- 
by — utterly,  irrevocably  ruined!" 

"But  how?    What 's  happened?" 

"It 's  grandmother !"  exclaimed  Eleanor,  strug- 
gling to  her  feet  and  speaking  with  dramatic  indigna- 
tion. "She  's  written  him  a  letter  I  '11  never  for- 
give— never!  I  don't  care  if  the  money  is  due  me. 
I  don't  want  it.  I  won't  have  it !  What  is  six  thou- 
sand dollars  to  me  if  it  turns  Papa  Claude  out  in  the 
street  ?" 

"But  here — hold  on  a  minute!"  said  Quin. 
"What's  all  the  racket  about?" 

"It 's  about  money,"  Mr.  Martel  roused  himself  to 
explain — "the  grossest  and  most  material  thing  in 
the  world.  Years  ago  Eleanor's  father  and  I  entered 


QUIN  173 

into  a  purely  personal  arrangement  by  which  he 
advanced  me  a  few  thousand  dollars  in  a  time  of  tem- 
porary financial  depression,  and  as  a  mere  matter  of 
form  I  put  up  this  house  as  security.  Had  the  dear 
lad  lived,  nothing  more  would  ever  have  been  said 
about  it  He  was  the  soul  of  generosity,  a  prince 
among  men.  But,  unfortunately,  at  his  death  he  left 
his  mother  Eleanor's  trustee." 

"And  she  has  simply  hounded  Papa  Claude," 
Eleanor  broke  in.  "She  has  tried  to  make  him  pay 
interest  on  that  old  note  every  single  year,  when  she 
knew  I  did  n't  need  the  money  in  the  least.  And 
now  she  had  notified  him  she  will  not  renew  the  note 
on  any  terms." 

"She  can't  collect  what  you  have  n't  got,  can  she?" 
Quin  asked. 

"She  can  sell  the  roof  over  our  heads,"  said  Papa 
Claude,  with  streaming  eyes  lifted  to  the  object  re- 
ferred to.  "She  can  scatter  my  beloved  family  and 
drive  me  back  into  the  treadmill  of  teaching.  And 
all  through  this  blessed,  innocent  child,  who  would 
give  all  she  has  in  the  world  to  see  her  poor  old 
grandfather  happy !" 

Again  Eleanor,  moved  to  a  passion  of  sympathy, 
flung  her  arms  around  him,  declaring  that  if  they 
made  him  pay  the  note  she  would  refund  every 
penny  of  it  the  day  she  was  twenty-one. 

But  Papa  Claude  was  not  to  be  consoled. 

"It  will  be  too  late,"  he  said  hopelessly.     "All  I 


174  QUIN 

required  was  one  year  more  in  which  to  retrieve  my 
fortunes  and  achieve  my  life  ambition.  And  now, 
with  success  almost  within  my  grasp,  the  goal  within 
sight,  this  cruel  blow,  this  bolt  from  the  blue " 

"Have  n't  you  got  any  other  property  or  stocks  or 
insurance  that  you  could  turn  over?"  asked  Quin, 
who  felt  that  the  occasion  demanded  numerical  fig- 
ures rather  than  figures  of  speech. 

"Only  a  small  farm  out  near  Anchordale,  which 
belonged  to  my  precious  wife's  father.  It  is  quite 
as  worthless  as  he  was,  poor  dear!  I  have  offered 
it  repeatedly  in  payment,  but  they  refused  to  con- 
sider it." 

"Is  there  a  house  on  it?"  persisted  Quin. 

"Yes — an  uninhabitable  old  stone  structure  that 
has  stood  there  for  nearly  a  century.  For  years  I 
have  tried  in  vain  to  rent  or  sell  it.  I  have  left  no 
stone  unturned,  Quinby.  I  know  I  am  regarded  as 
a  visionary,  a  dreamer,  but  I  assure  you " 

"What  about  the  ground?" 

"Very  hilly  and  woody.  Absolutely  good  for 
nothing  but  a  stock  farm.  Utterly  incapable  of  culti- 
vation. It 's  no  use  considering  it,  my  dear  boy.  I 
have  viewed  the  matter  from  every  conceivable 
angle.  There  is  no  reprisal.  I  am  doomed.  This 
beloved  house  will  be  sold,  my  family  scattered.  I 
an  old  man,  a  penniless  outcast " 

"No,  no,  Papa  Claude !"  protested  Eleanor.  "You 
shrfn't  be  turned  out.  We  must  borrow  the  money. 


QUIN  175 

It 's  only  a  little  over  a  year  until  I'm  oi  age,  and 
then  I  can  pay  it  all  back.  Surely  we  can  find  some- 
body to  help  us  out !" 

"Ah,  my  darling,  your  trust  is  born  of  inexperi- 
ence. People  do  not  lend  money  without  security. 
There  is  absolutely  no  one  to  whom  I  can  appeal." 

Eleanor,  sitting  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  suddenly 
started  up. 

"I  have  it !"  she  cried.  "I  know  who  will  help  us ! 
Captain  Phipps !  He  knows  better  than  any  one  else 
what  it  means  to  you  to  have  this  next  year  free  to 
finish  the  play.  He  will  be  glad  to  do  it ;  I  know  he 
will." 

Mr.  Martel  looked  slightly  embarrassed.  "As  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  has  been  approached  on  the  sub- 
ject," he  said.  "He  was  most  sympathetic  and  kind, 
but  unfortunately  his  money  is  all  invested  at 
present." 

"Fiddlesticks!"  cried  Eleanor  in  a  tone  so  sug- 
gestive of  her  paternal  grandmother  that  Quin 
smiled.  "What  difference  does  it  make  if  it  is  in- 
vested? Let  him  un-invest  it.  I  am  sure  I  could 
get  him  to  lend  it  to  me,  only  I  would  hate  awfully 
to  ask  him." 

Mr.  Martel's  roving  eyes  came  back  to  hers  hope- 
fully. 

"I  wonder  if  you  could?"  he  said,  grasping  at  the 
proffered  straw.  "Perhaps  if  he  understood  that 
yoier  career  was  at  stake,  that  my  disappointment 


176  QUIN 

would  mean  yow  disappointment,  he  would  make 
some  special  effort  to  assist  us.  Will  you  go  to  him, 
child?  Will  you  plead  our  cause  for  us?" 

Eleanor  hesitated  but  a  moment;  then  she  set  her 
lips  firmly.  "Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  little  catch  in  her 
voice;  "I  will.  I  '11  go  to  him  in  tfie  morning." 

Quin,  who  had  been  staring  out  of  the  window, 
deep  in  thought,  turned  abruptly  to  Mr.  Martel. 

"When  do  you  have  to  have  the  money?"  he  asked. 

"By  next  Wednesday,  the  first — no,  the  second  of 
April.  The  date  is  burned  in  my  memory." 

"You  see,  there  's  no  time  to  lose,"  said  Eleanor. 
"I  'd  rather  die  than  do  it,  but  1 11  ask  Harold  Phipps 
to-morrow  morning." 

"No,  you  won't,"  said  Quin  peremptorily ;  "I  am 
going  to  get  the  money  myself." 

"But  he  wouldn't  lend  it  to  you.  You  don't 
understand !" 

"Yes,  I  do.  Will  you  leave  the  matter  with  me 
until  Sunday  night,  Mr.  Martel,  and  let  me  see  what 
I  can  do?" 

Quin  made  the  suggestion  as  calmly  as  if  he  had 
unlimited  resources  at  his  disposal.  Had  the  sum 
been  six  million  dollars  instead  of  six  thousand,  he 
would  have  made  the  offer  just  the  same.  The  para- 
mount necessity  of  the  moment  was  to  keep  Eleanor 
Bartlett  from  borrowing  money  from  a  man  like 
Harold  Phipps.  Mr.  Martel's  claims  were  of  sec- 
ondary consideration. 


QUIN  177 

"We  might  let  him  try,  grandfather,"  suggested 
Eleanor.  "If  he  does  n't  succeed,  there  would  still 
be  time  for  me  to  speak  to  the  Captain." 

"But,  my  boy,  where  would  you  turn?  What  in- 
fluence could  you  bring  to  bear  ?" 

"Well,  you  'd  have  to  trust  me  about  that,"  Quin 
said.  "There  are  more  ways  than  one  of  raising 
money,  and  if  you  '11  leave  it  to  me " 

"I  will!  I  will?"  cried  Mr.  Martel  in  a  burst  of 
confidence.  "I  shift  my  burden  to  your  strong  young 
shoulders.  For  three  days  I  have  borne  the  agony 
alone.  There  were  special  reasons  for  Cassius  not 
being  told.  He  is  one  of  the  noblest  of  God's  crea- 
tures, but  he  lacks  sentiment.  I  confess  I  have  too 
much.  These  old  walls  are  but  brick  and  mortar  to 
him,  but  to  me  they  are  the  custodians  of  the  past. 
Here  I  had  hoped  to  sit  in  the  twilight  of  my  life 
and  softly  turn  the  leaves  of  happy  memories.  But 
there!  Enough!  'The  darkest  hour  oft  precedes 
the  dawn!'  I  will  not  despair.  In  your  hands  and 
my  darling  Eleanor's  I  leave  my  fate.  Something 
tells  me  that,  between  you,  you  will  save  me!  In 
the  mean  season  not  a  word,  not  a  syllable  to  any 
one.  And  now  let  us  have  some  music  and  banish 
these  unhappy  topics." 

It  was  amazing  how  a  gentleman  so  crushed  by 
fate  at  five  could  be  in  such  splendid  form  by  seven. 
Mr.  Martel  had  insisted  upon  having  a  salad  and 
ices  for  dinner  in  honor  of  Eleanor's  presence,  and 


178  QUIN 

he  mixed  the  French  dressing  with  elaborate  care, 
and  enlivened  the  company  with  a  succession  of  his 
sprightliest  anecdotes. 

It  was  Quinby  Graham  who  was  the  grave  one. 
He  ate  his  dinner  in  preoccupied  silence,  arousing 
himself  to  sporadic  bursts  of  merriment  only  when 
he  caught  Eleanor's  troubled  eyes  watching  him. 
Just  how  he  was  going  to  proceed  with  his  colossal 
undertaking  he  had  not  the  faintest  idea.  One  wild 
scheme  after  another  presented  itself,  only  to  be  dis- 
carded as  utterly  impractical. 

Under  cover  of  leaving  the  dining-room,  Eleanor 
managed  to  whisper  to  him : 

"Make  Cass  let  you  take  me  home.  I  Ve  simply 
got  to  talk  to  you." 

But  neither  Cass  nor  Quin  was  to  have  the  priv- 
ilege. Mr.  Martel  announced  that  he  was  going  to 
escort  her  himself.  The  only  crumb  of  comfort  that 
Quin  was  able  to  snatch  from  the  wretched  evening 
was  when  he  was  helping  her  on  with  her  coat  in  the 
hall. 

"When  can  I  see  you?"  he  whispered  anxiously. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  whispered  back;  "every 
hour  's  taken." 

"What  about  Sunday  afternoon?" 

"I  've  promised  to  motor  out  to  Anchordale  with 
Aunt  Flo  and  Uncle  Ranny  to  hunt  for  wild  flowers. 
Think  of  it!  When  all  this  trouble  's  brewing." 

"Anchordale,"  repeated  Quin  absently,  holding  her 


QUIN  179 

coat  suspended  by  the  collar  and  one  sleeve. 
"Anchordale !  By  golly !  I  Ve  got  an  idea !  Say, 
I  'm  going  along  Sunday.  You  manage  it  somehow." 

"But  I  can't  manage  it !  You  are  n't  invited ;  and, 
besides " 

"I  can't  help  that — I  'm  going.  What  time  do 
you  start?" 

"Three  o'clock.  But  you  can't  go,  I  tell  you! 
They  won't  understand." 

"All  ready,  Nellie?"  called  a  voice  on  the  stair- 
way; and  Papa  Claude,  with  a  smile  of  perfect  se- 
renity on  his  face,  bore  lightly  and  consciously  down 
upon  them. 


CHAPTER  16 

DURING  the  rushing  Easter  vacation,  Eleanor 
had  seen  less  of  Harold  Phipps  than  Quin  had 
feared.  Considering  the  subliminal  state  of  under- 
standing at  which  they  had  arrived  in  their  volumi- 
nous letters,  it  was  a  little  awkward  to  account  for 
the  fact  that  she  had  found  so  little  time  to  devote 
exclusively  to  him.  They  had  met  at  dances  and 
had  had  interrupted  tete-a-tetes  in  secluded  corners, 
and  several  stolen  interviews  in  the  park;  but  her 
duties  as  hostess  to  two  lively  guests  had  left  little 
time  for  the  exacting  demands  of  platonic  friend- 
ship. Now  that  the  girls  were  gone,  she  had  counted 
on  this  last  Sunday  at  Uncle  Ranny's  as  a  time  when 
she  could  see  Harold  under  proper  conditions  and 
make  amends  for  any  seeming  neglect. 

But  when  Sunday  came,  and  she  found  herself 
seated  at  Aunt  Flo's  small,  perfectly  appointed  din- 
ner-table, she  found  it  increasingly  difficult  to  keep 
her  mind  upon  the  brilliant  and  cynical  conversation 
of  her  most  admired  friend.  To  be  sure,  they  ex- 
changed glances  freighted  with  meaning,  and  as 
usual  her  vanity  was  touched  by  the  subtle  homage 

of  one  who  apparently  regarded  the  rest  of  humanity 

i  So 


QUIN  181 

with  such  cold  indifference.  He  was  the  first  person, 
except  Papa  Claude,  who  had  ever  taken  her  and 
her  ambitions  seriously,  and  she  was  profoundly 
grateful.  But,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  she  felt 
honored  and  distinguished  by  his  friendship,  she 
sometimes,  as  now,  found  it  difficult  to  follow  the 
trend  of  his  conversation. 

An  hour  before  she  had  received  an  agonized  note 
from  her  grandfather  saying  that  nothing  had  been 
accomplished,  and  that,  unless  she  could  use  her  in- 
fluence "in  a  quarter  that  should  be  nameless,  all,  all 
would  be  lost!" 

Her  dark,  brooding  eyes  swept  the  table  with  its 
profusion  of  silver  and  cut  glass,  its  affectation  of 
candle-light  when  the  world  without  was  a  blaze  of 
sunshine.  She  looked  at  Uncle  Ranny,  with  his 
nervous,  twitching  lips  and  restless,  dissatisfied  eyes ; 
at  Aunt  Flo,  delicate,  affected,  futile;  at  Harold 
Phipps,  easy,  polished,  serene.  What  possible  chance 
would  there  be  of  rousing  people  like  that  to  sym- 
pathy for  poor,  visionary  Papa  Claude?  For  three 
days  the  dread  of  having  to  fulfil  her  promise  had 
hung  over  her  like  a  pall.  Now  that  the  time  was 
approaching,  the  mere  thought  of  it  made  her  head 
hot  and  her  hands  cold. 

"Cheer  up,  Nell!"  her  uncle  rallied  her.  "Don't 
let  your  misdeeds  crush  you.  You  '11  be  in  high  favor 
again  by  the  time  you  get  back  from  Baltimore." 


182  QUIN 

"Are  you  sharing  my  unpopularity  with  the  fam- 
ily?" asked  Harold. 

Eleanor  confessed  that  she  was.  "I  've  been  in 
disgrace  ever  since  my  party,"  she  said.  "Did  Uncle 
Ranny  tell  you  the  way  we  shocked  the  aunties  ?" 

"I  did,"  said  Mr.  Ranny;  "also  the  way  sister 
Isobel  looked  when  little  Kittie  Mason  shook  the 
shimmy.  It 's  a  blessing  mother  did  not  see  her ;  I 
veritably  believe  she  would  have  spanked  her." 

"A  delicious  household,"  pronounced  Harold. 
"What  a  pity  they  have  banished  me.  I  should  so 
love  to  put  them  in  a  play !" 

"But  I  would  n't  let  you !"  Eleanor  cried,  so  indig- 
nantly that  the  other  three  laughed. 

"Neither  bond  nor  free,"  Harold  said,  pursing  his 
lips  and  lifting  his  brows.  "A  little  pagan  at  home 
and  a  puritan  abroad.  How  are  we  going  to  emanci- 
pate her,  Ran?" 

"You  need  n't  worry,"  said  Mrs.  Ranny,  lazily 
lighting  her  cigarette.  "Eleanor  is  a  lot  more  subtle 
than  any  one  thinks ;  she  '11  emancipate  herself  be- 
fore long." 

Eleanor  was  grateful  to  Aunt  Flo.  She  was  tired 
of  being  considered  an  ingenue.  She  wanted  to  be 
treated  with  the  dignity  her  twenty  years  demanded. 

"I  have  a  plan  for  her,"  said  Harold,  with  a  pro- 
prietary air.  "Who  knows  but  this  time  next  year 
she  will  be  playing  in  'Phantom  Love'  ?" 


QUIN  183 

Eleanor's  wandering  thoughts  came  to  instant  at- 
tention. 

"Is  there  a  part  I  could  play?"  she  asked  eagerly, 
leaning  across  the  table  with  her  chin  on  her  clasped 
hands. 

Harold  watched  her  with  an  amused  smile.  "What 
would  you  say  if  I  told  you  I  had  written  a  role 
especially  for  you?  Would  you  dare  to  take  it?" 

Eleanor  closed  her  eyes  and  drew  a  breath  of  rap- 
ture. 

"Would  I?  There  isn't  anything  in  heaven  or 
earth  that  could  prevent  me !" 

"Mrs.  Bartlett,"  said  the  trim  maid,  "there's  a 
young  man  at  the  front  door." 

The  conversation  hung  suspended  while  Mrs. 
Ranny  inquired  concerning  his  mission. 

"It 's  the  young  man  that  brings  messages  from 
the  office,  ma'am." 

"Oh,  it  must  be  Quin,"  said  Mr.  Ranny,  rising 
and  going  into  the  hall.  "Did  you  want  to  see  me 
about  something?" 

Eleanor  held  her  breath  to  listen.  Was  it  possible 
that  that  absurd  boy  had  actually  followed  her  up 
to  the  Bartletts'  with  the  intention  of  going  with 
them  on  their  expedition  ?  Had  n't  it  been  enough 
for  him  to  come  to  her  party  in  that  idiotic  coat,  with 
his  shirt-front  bulging  and  his  face  swollen?  Of 
course  she  liked  him — she  liked  him  immensely ;  but 
he  had  no  right  to  impose  upon  her  kindness,  to  make 


1 84  QUIN 

a  pretext  of  his  interest  in  Papa  Claude  to  force  him- 
self in  where  he  was  not  invited.  Now  that  he  had 
got  into  the  scrape,  he  would  have  to  get  out  of  it 
as  best  he  could.  She  was  resolved  not  to  lift  a 
finger  to  help  him. 

"Oh !  I  did  n't  understand" — Mr.  Ranny^  voice 
could  be  heard  from  the  hall,  with  a  cordial  emphasis 
evidently  intended  to  cover  a  blunder.  "Come  right 
in  the  dining-room ;  we  are  just  having  coffee.  You 
know  these  ladies,  of  course,  and  this  is  Captain 
Phipps,  Mr.  Graham." 

Ouin  came  into  the  room  awkwardly,  half  ex- 
tended his  hand,  then  withdrew  it  hastily  as  Harold, 
without  rising  from  the  table,  gave  him  a  curt  nod 
and  said  condescendingly: 

"How  do  you  do,  Graham?" 

Eleanor's  quick  understanding  glance  swept  from 
the  erect,  embarrassed,  boyish  figure  in  the  badly  fit- 
ting cheap  suit  and  obviously  new  tan  shoes,  to  the 
perfectly  groomed  officer  lounging  with  nonchalant 
grace  with  his  crossed  arms  on  the  table.  A  curious 
idea  occurred  to  her:  Suppose  they  should  change 
places,  and  Harold  should  stand  there  in  those  dread- 
ful clothes  Quin  wore,  and  receive  a  snub  from  an 
ex-officer — would  he  be  able  to  take  it  with  such 
simple  dignity  and  give  no  sign  of  his  chagrin  except 
by  the  slow  color  that  mounted  to  his  neck  and  brow  ? 
She,  who  a  moment  before  had  been  ready  to  anni- 


QUIN  185 

hrlate  the  intruder,  rose  impulsively  and  held  out  a 
friendly  hand. 

"Mr.  Graham  and  I  are  old  friends,"  she  said 
lightly.  "We  knew  each  other  out  at  the  hospital 
even  before  he  came  to  stay  at  grandmother's." 

The  next  instant  she  was  sorry  she  had  spoken: 
for  the  self-control  for  which  she  had  commended 
him  suddenly  departed,  and  his  eyelids,  which  should 
have  been  discreetly  lowered,  were  lifted  instead,  and 
such  an  ardent  look  of  gratitude  poured  forth  that 
she  was  filled  with  confusion. 

For  half  an  hour  four  uncomfortable  people  sat 
in  the  little  gilded  cage  of  a  drawing-room,  and 
everybody  wondered  why  somebody  did  n't  do  some- 
thing to  relieve  the  situation.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ranny 
made  heroic  efforts  to  entertain  their  unwelcome 
guest;  Harold  Phipps  moved  about  the  room  with 
iH-concealed  impatience ;  and  Eleanor  sat  erect,  with 
tightly  clasped  hands,  as  angry  with  Harold  as  she 
was  with  Quin. 

"Mr.  Graham,"  said  Mrs.  Ranny  at  length,  when 
Harold  had  looked  at  his  watch  for  the  fourth  time, 
"I  am  afraid  we  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  excuse  us. 
You  see,  this  is  our  wedding  anniversary,  and  we  al- 
ways celebrate  it  by  a  sentimental  pilgrimage  in 
search  of  wild  flowers.  I  am  afraid  it 's  about  time 
we  were  starting." 

Eleanor  felt  Quin's  eyes  seek  hers  confidently, 


i86  QUIN 

but  she  refused  to  meet  them.  There  was  a  painful 
silence;  then  he  spoke  up  hopefully: 

"I  know  where  there  are  wild  flowers  to  burn :  I 
was  at  a  place  yesterday  where  you  could  hardly 
walk  for  them;  I  counted  seven  different  kinds  in  a 
space  about  as  big  as  this  room." 

"Where?"  demanded  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ranny  in  one 
breath. 

"Out  Anchordale  way — I  don't  know  the  name  of 
the  road.  It 's  an  out-of-the-way  sort  of  place. 
Never  was  there  myself  until  yesterday." 

"Could  you  find  it  again?"  Mrs.  Ranny  asked  with 
an  enthusiasm  hitherto  reserved  for  her  poodle. 

"Sure,"  said  Quin,  shoving  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  leaning  back  with  the  frankest  and  best- 
natured  of  smiles.  "I  never  saw  so  many  cowslips 
and  buttercups  and  yellow  violets,  and  these  here 
little  arums." 

"Arums !"  repeated  Eleanor.  "What  do  you  know 
about  wild  flowers?" 

"I  lived  with  'em  up  in  the  Maine  woods,"  said 
Quin.  "I  don't  know  their  high-brow  names,  but  I 
know  the  kind  of  places  they  grow  in  and  where  to 
look  for  'em." 

"Let's  take  him  along!"  said  Mrs.  Ranny.  "We 
won't  mind  being  a  bit  crowded  in  the  motor,  will 
we?" 

Involuntarily  all  eyes  turned  toward  Harold 
Phipps. 


QUIN  187 

"Not  in  the  least,"  he  said,  flicking  an  ash  from 
the  sleeve  of  his  uniform  with  a  dexterous  little 
finger,  "especially  as  I  am  not  going  to  be  with  you 
all  the  way.  These  bucolic  joys  are  hardly  in  my 
line.  I  '11  get  you  to  drop  me  at  the  Country  Club." 

It  was  Eleanor's  turn  to  cast  a  look  of  tragic 
appeal  and  get  no  response.  In  vain  she  tried  to 
persuade  him  to  reconsider  his  decision.  His  only 
concession  was  that  he  would  remain  at  the  apart- 
ment with  her  if  she  would  give  up  the  expedition, 
a  suggestion  that  was  promptly  vetoed  by  Aunt  Flo. 
Eleanor  was  angry  enough  to  cry  as  she  flung  on 
her  wraps  in  the  little  silk-hung  guest-room.  Men 
were  so  selfish,  she  savagely  told  herself;  if  either 
Quin  or  Harold  had  had  a  particle  of  consideration 
for  her  they  would  not  have  spoiled  her  last  day  at 
home. 

On  the  way  out  to  the  club  she  sat  between  them, 
miserably  indifferent  to  the  glory  of  the  spring  day 
and  refusing  to  contribute  more  than  an  occasional 
monosyllable  to  the  conversation,  which  needed  all 
the  encouragement  it  could  get  to  keep  going. 

"Shall  I  see  you  again  before  you  go?"  Harold 
asked  coldly,  upon  leaving  the  car. 

She  wanted  very  much  to  say  no,  and  to  say  it  in 
a  way  that  would  punish  him;  but,  in  view  of  the 
important  matter  pending,  she  was  forced  to  swallow 
her  pride  and  compromise. 

"I  can  see  you  to-night  at  the  Newsons',  unless 


i88  QUIN 

you  prefer  spending  your  evening  here  at  the  club." 

"You  know  perfectly  well  what  I  prefer,"  he  said 
with  a  meaning  look;  and  then,  without  glancing 
at  Quin,  across  whose  knees  he  had  clasped  Elea- 
nor's hand,  he  bade  his  host  and  hostess  an  apologetic 
good-by  and  mounted  the  club-house  steps. 

"What  made  you  come?"  Eleanor  demanded 
fiercely  of  Quin,  under  cover  of  the  starting  motor. 

"I  had  to,"  Quin  whispered  back  apologetically. 
"We  got  to  sell  'em  the  farm." 

"What  farm?  Papa  Claude's?  [Whom  are  you 
going  to  sell  it  to?" 

Quin  lifted  a  warning  finger  and  nodded  sig- 
nificantly at  the  back  of  Mr.  Ranny's  unsuspecting 
head. 

"Uncle  Ranny?"  Eleanor's  lips  formed  the 
words  incredulously.  Then  the  mere  suggestion  of 
outwitting  her  grandmother  and  saving  Papa  Claude 
by  such  a  master  stroke  of  diplomacy  struck  her  so 
humorously  that  she  broke  into  laughter,  in  which 
Quin  joined. 

"You  two  are  very  lively  all  of  a  sudden,"  Mrs. 
Ranny  said  over  her  shoulder.  "What  is  the  joke?" 

"Miss  Eleanor  and  I  have  gone  into  the  real  estate 
business.  Do  you  want  to  buy  a  farm?" 

"We  always  want  to  buy  a  farm.  We  look  at 
every  one  we  hear  is  for  sale.  But  they  all  cost  too 
much." 

"This  one  won't.     It 's  a  bargain-counter  farm. 


QUIN  189 

A  house  and  fifteen  acres.  You  can  get  it  for  six 
thousand  dollars  if  you'll  buy  it  to-day." 

"All  right;  we  '11  take  it,"  cried  Mr.  Ranny  gaily. 
"Lead  us  to  it." 

The  quest  for  the  farm  became  so  absorbing  that 
the  wild  flowers  were  forgotten.  The  oftener  they 
took  the  wrong  road  and  had  to  start  over,  the 
keener  they  became  to  reach  their  destination. 

"I  believe  it  was  a  pipe-dream,"  said  Mr.  Ranny; 
"you  never  saw  the  place  at  all." 

"Yes,  I  did !  I  'm  not  kidding  you.  It 's  a  regular 
peach  of  a  place  for  anybody  that 's  got  money  to 
fix  it  up.  Hold  on  a  minute ;  this  looks  like  the  side 
lane.  Do  you  mind  walking  the  rest  of  the  way?" 

"Not  if  we  get  anywhere,"  said  Mr.  Ranny. 

Their  way  led  through  a  tangled  thicket,  across 
a  log  bridge,  and  up  a  steep  hillside  abloom  from 
base  to  summit  with  early  spring  flowers.  Down 
through  the  tender  green  leaves  the  sunshine  poured, 
searching  out  many  nooks  and  corners  at  which  it 
would  get  no  chance  when  the  heavier  foliage  in- 
tervened. 

"This  is  where  the  land  begins,"  said  Quin.  "Did 
you  ever  see  such  bully  old  trees?  Any  time  you 
wanted  to  sell  off  lots,  you  see,  you  could  do  it  on 
this  side,  without  touching  the  farm." 

"Where's  the  house?"  asked  Mrs.  Ranny. 

"Right  through  here,"  said  Quin,  holding  back 
the  branches.  "Now,  ain't  that  a  nice  old  place?" 


190  QUIN 

His  enthusiasm  met  with  no  response. 

In  the  center  of  what  had  once  been  a  clearing 
stood  an  old  stone  building,  half  smothered  in  a 
wilderness  of  weeds  and  sassafras  and  cane,  its  one 
big  chimney  dreaming  in  the  silence  that  seemed  to 
have  encompassed  it  for  ages.  The  shutters  hung 
disconsolate  on  their  hinges,  the  window-panes  were 
broken,  the  cornice  sagged  dejectedly. 

Eleanor's  heart  sank.  It  was  worse,  far  worse, 
than  Papa  Claude  had  described  it,  fit  only  for  the 
birds  and  spiders  and  chipmunks  that  were  already 
in  possession.  How  Quin  could  ever  for  a  moment 
have  thought  of  selling  such  a  place  to  the  fastidious 
Bartletts  was  more  than  she  could  imagine. 

But  he  was  carrying  the  matter  off  with  a  high 
hand,  in  spite  of  the  dismayed  faces  of  his  prospec- 
tive buyers. 

"Of  course  it  needs  a  shave,"  he  admitted,  as  he 
tore  down  a  handful  of  trailing  vines  that  barred  the 
front  door.  "But  you  just  wait  till  you  get  inside 
and  see  the  big  stone  fireplace  and  the  queer  cup- 
boards. Why,  this  house  is  historic !  It 's  been  here 
since  pioneer  days.  Look  out  for  the  floor ;  it 's 
a  bit  rotten  along  here." 

"I  don't  think  I  '11  come  in,"  said  Mrs.  Ranny, 
holding  up  her  skirts. 

"What  a  funny  little  staircase!"  cried  Eleanor. 
"And  what  huge  rooms!  You  must  come  in,  Aunt 
Flo,  and  see  the  fireplace." 


QUIN  191 

"And  look  at  the  walls !"  cried  Quin.  "You  don't 
see  walls  like  those  these  days.  But  you  just  wait 
till  you  get  upstairs.  You  've  got  the  surprise  ol 
your  life  coming  to  you." 

"Outside 's  good  enough  for  me,"  Mr.  Ranny 
declared.  "I  want  to  take  a  look  at  that  old  apple 
orchard." 

"I  '11  go  upstairs  with  you!"  said  Eleanor.  "Come 
on,  Aunt  Flo;  let 's  see  what  it 's  like." 

At  the  top  of  the  steps  they  both  gave  an  exclama- 
tion of  delight.  The  house,  hemmed  in,  in  front, 
by  its  trees  and  underbrush,  overlooked  from  its 
rear  windows  a  valley  of  surpassing  loveliness.  For 
miles  the  eye  could  wander  over  orchards  full  of 
pink-and-white  peach  blossoms  on  leafless  boughs, 
over  farm-lands  and  woody  spaces  full  of  floating 
clouds  of  white  dogwood.  Through  the  paneless 
windows  came  the  warm  spring  air,  full  of  the  odor 
of  tender  growing  things  and  the  wholesome  smell 
of  the  freshly  upturned  earth. 

"Randolph  Bartlett,  come  up  here  this  instant!" 
called  Mrs.  Ranny.  "It's  the  loveliest  thing  you 
ever  saw !" 

But  Mr.  Ranny  was  eagerly  examining  the  re- 
mains of  a  somewhat  extensive  chicken  farm. 

"Go  down  and  show  him  around,"  Eleanor  ad- 
vised Quin,  with  a  glimmer  of  hope.  "Aunt  Flo 
and  I  will  explore  the  rest  of  the  house." 

They  not  only  explored,  but  in  their  imagination 


192  QUIN 

they  remodeled  it.  Eleanor,  in  spite  of  her  day- 
dreams, was  a  very  practical  little  person,  and,  with 
her  power  of  visualizing  a  scene  for  others  as  well 
as  for  herself,  she  soon  made  Mrs.  Ranny  see  the 
place  painted  and  clean,  with  rag  rugs  on  the  floors, 
quaint  old  mahogany  furniture,  tall  brass  candle- 
sticks on  the  mantel,  and  gay  chintz  curtains  at  the 
windows. 

Mrs.  Ranny  grew  quite  animated  talking  about  it, 
and  forgot  the  disturbing  fact  that  she  had  not  had  a 
cigarette  since  dinner. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said  to  Eleanor,  as  they  came 
back  to  the  window  and  looked  down  at  the  two  men 
talking  and  gesticulating  eagerly  in  the  garden  be- 
low, "I  believe  if  Ranny  had  something  like  this 
to  work  with  and  play  with,  things  would  be  dif- 
ferent." 

"Of  course  they  would,"  Eleanor  agreed  eagerly 
— "for  him  and  for  you  too.  Why  don't  you  try  it, 
Aunt  Flo?" 

"Oh,  it  would  cost  too  much  to  put  it  in  repair. 
But  then,  six  thousand  dollars  is  very  little,  is  n't 
it?  Ran  spent  that  much  for  his  big  car." 

"Yes ;  and  he  could  sell  his  big  car.  You  'd  lots 
rather  have  this  than  an  extra  motor.  And  we 
could  get  him  interested  in  fixing  the  place  up,  and 
he  could  keep  dogs  and  cows  and  things " 

"But  what  about  his  mother?" 


QUIN  193 

"You  wouldn't  have  to  tell  her.  She  will  be 
going  to  Maine  in  June,  and  you  and  Uncle  Ranny 
could  be  all  settled  by  the  time  she  comes  home !" 

Eleanor  had  forgotten  all  about  Papa  Claude  in 
her  eagerness  to  get  Uncle  Ranny  his  heart's  desire. 

"I  believe  we  could  do  it!"  Mrs.  Ranny  was  say- 
ing. "The  chief  expense  would  be  putting  in  a 
couple  of  bath-rooms  and  fixing  up  the  floors.  As 
for  the  furniture,  I  have  all  my  mother's  stuff  packed 
away  in  the  warehouse — nice,  quaint  old  things  that 
would  suit  this  place  perfectly." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Flo,  let 's  go  down  this  minute  and 
make  Uncle  Ranny  buy  it!" 

Randolph  Bartlett,  whose  powers  of  resistance 
were  never  strong,  was  already  lending  a  willing 
ear  to  Quin's  persuasive  arguments,  when  Eleanor 
and  Mrs.  Ranny  descended  upon  him  in  a  whirlwind 
of  enthusiasm.  They  both  talked  at  once,  rushing 
him  from  one  spot  to  another,  vying  with  each  other 
in  pointing  out  the  wonderful  possibilities  of  the 
place. 

"See  here,  is  this  a  frame-up?"  he  asked  laugh- 
ingly. "You  are  not  actually  in  earnest,  Flo  ?  You 
don't  mean  that  you  would  consider  the  place  se- 
riously?" 

"But  I  do.  I  never  wanted  anything  so  much  in 
my  life!" 

Mr.  Ranny  looked  at  her  in  amazement.     "And 


194  QUIN 

you  mean  you  'd  be  willing  to  come  out  here  and 
live  four  months  in  the  year?" 

"I  mean,  if  we  could  get  it  fixed  up  right,  I  'd  live 
here  the  year  round.  We  are  only  fifteen  minutes 
from  town,  and  all  our  friends  live  out  this  way." 

"By  George,  I  've  almost  a  notion  to  try  it !"  Mr. 
Ranny's  eyes  were  shining.  "Do  you  believe  I 
could  pull  it  off,  Quin  ?  I  've  made  such  a  darned 
fizzle  of  things  in  the  past  that  I  'm  almost  afraid  to 
kick  over  the  traces  again." 

"The  trouble  is,  you  've  never  given  a  big  enough 
kick  to  get  loose,"  said  Quin.  "Here  's  your  chance 
to  show  'em  what  you  can  do.  I  believe  if  you  'd 
buy  this  place,  and  buckle  down  to  knocking  it  into 
shape,  you  could  have  as  pretty  a  little  stock  farm 
as  there  is  in  the  State." 

"That  sounds  mighty  good  to  me!"  said  Mr. 
Ranny  with  the  look  of  a  prisoner  who  is  promised 
a  parole.  "When  do  you  have  to  give  an  answer?" 

"My  option  is  up  at  midnight." 

"Good  heaven!    You  don't  mean  to-night?" 

"Yes,  sir ;  not  a  minute  later." 

"I  am  afraid  that  settles  it,  as  far  as  I  'm  con- 
cerned." 

"No,  it  doesn't!"  insisted  Mrs.  Ranny.  "If  you 
really  want  it,  there  is  no  reason  you  shouldn't 
have  it.  The  ground  alone  is  worth  the  price  asked. 
Let  the  others  go  back  to  the  car  while  you  and  I 
talk  the  matter  over.  It 's  the  chance  we  Ve  been 


QUIN 

looking  for  for  ten  years,  and  I  'm  not  going  to  let 
it  slip." 

The  next  hour  was  one  Eleanor  never  forgot. 
She  and  Quin,  confident  of  the  success  of  their 
conspiracy,  were  also  jubilant  over  what  they  re- 
garded as  Mr.  Ranny's  possible  emancipation.  They 
already  saw  him  a  reformed  character,  a  prosperous 
and  contented  farmer,  no  longer  a  menace  to  the 
peace  of  the  family.  So  elated  were  they  that,  in- 
stead of  going  to  the  road,  they  explored  the  woods, 
and  ended  by  racing  down  the  hill  like  a  couple  of 
irresponsible  children. 

When  they  at  last  got  back  to  the  car,  Eleanor, 
disheveled  and  limp,  sank  on  the  running-board  and 
laughingly  made  room  for  Quin  beside  her.  She 
had  quite  forgotten  to  be  grown  up  and  tempera- 
mental, a  fact  that  Quin  was  prompt  to  take  ad- 
vantage of. 

"See  here  I"  he  said.  "Am  I  going  to  get  a  com- 
mission for  all  this?" 

"How  much  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  a  lot !"  he  threatened. 

He  was  leaning  forward  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  tracing  figures  in  the  sand  with  his  shoe. 
Eleanor  noticed  the  nice  way  his  hair  grew  on  the 
back  of  his  neck  and  the  white  skin  that  met  the 
clear  brown  skin  at  the  collar-line.  In  spite  of  his 
bigness  and  his  strength,  he  seemed  very  young  and 
defenseless  when  it  came  to  his  dealings  with  girls. 


196  QUIN 

It  was  useless  to  deny  that  she  knew  what  he 
wanted.  His  eyes  had  been  saying  it  persistently 
each  time  they  had  met  hers  for  three  months.  They 
had  whispered  it  after  that  first  dance  at  the 
Hawaiian  Garden;  they  had  murmured  it  through 
the  hospital  days ;  they  had  shouted  it  this  afternoon 
at  Uncle  Ranny's,  so  loud  that  she  thought  every 
one  must  surely  hear.  But  when  a  young  lady  is 
engaged  in  the  exciting  business  of  playing  with  fire 
she  does  n't  always  heed  even  a  shouted  warning. 
As  long  as  she  was  very  careful,  she  told  herself, 
and  snuffed  out  every  blaze  that  threatened  to  be- 
come unmanageable,  no  damage  would  be  done.  The 
present  moment  was  one  requiring  snuffers. 

"We  can't  begin  to  pay  you  what  we  owe  you," 
she  said  in  her  most  conventional  tone.  "If  things 
go  as  we  hope  they  will,  it  will  mean  everything  to 
Uncle  Ranny  as  well  as  to  Papa  Claude." 

"I  did  n't  do  it  for  them  only,"  Quin  blurted  out. 
"I  did  n't  want  you  to  borrow  money  from  Captain 
Phipps." 

The  temptation  to  encourage  this  special  spark 
was  not  to  be  resisted. 

"You  don't  love  Mr.  Phipps  very  much,  do  you?" 
she  said. 

"No;  do  you?" 

"Well,  I  like  him.  He  is  one  of  my  very  best 
friends." 

"Am  I  ?"  demanded  Quin  with  terrible  directness. 


QUIN  197 

It  was  Eleanor's  turn  to  trace  patterns  in  the  sand. 

"Well,  you  see "  she  began. 

"No,  I  don't."  Quin  rose  indignantly.  "There  's 
nobody  in  the  world  that  would  do  any  more  for 
you  than  I  would.  I  may  be  chasing  the  kite  in 
thinking  that  you  want  me  to  do  anything,  but  if 
you  '11  just  let  me  under  the  ribbon,  you  bet  your 
life  I  '11  give  Phipps  and  the  rest  of  the  talent  a  run 
for  their  money!" 

He  stood  staring  hard  down  the  road  for  a  mo- 
ment, while  she  sat  in  embarrassed  silence;  then  he 
broke  forth  again : 

"I  know  you  don't  want  me  to  say  these  things. 
I  know  every  time  you  head  me  off.  But  if  you  '11 
just  let  me  get  it  off  my  chest  this  once,  then  I 
promise  to  keep  the  cork  in  if  it  busts  the  bottle !" 

Eleanor  laughed  in  spite  of  herself. 

"All  right,"  she  said;  "I  '11  listen." 

"Well,"  said  Quin,  "it 's  this  way.  I  know  you 
don't  care  a  tinker's  damn  for  me  in  the  way  I  care 
for  you.  But  you  can't  deny  that  you  do  like  me 
some.  You  wouldn't  talk  to  me  like  you  do  and 
let  me  do  things  for  you  if  you  didn't.  What  I 
want  you  to  promise  is  that  whenever  you  need  a 
friend — a  best  friend,  mind  you — you  will  come 
straight  to  me." 

He  looked  worth  coming  to  as  he  stood  there,  big 
and  strong  and  earnest;  and  Eleanor,  being  young 
and  a  woman,  promptly  forgot  her  good  resolutions 


198  QUIN 

not  to  encourage  him,  and  rose  impulsively  and  held 
out  her  hand. 

"I  do  promise,  Quin,"  she  said,  "and  I  thank  you 
with  all  my  heart." 

Then  a  curious  and  unexpected  thing  happened 
to  her.  As  she  stood  there  on  the  lonely  country 
road  with  her  hand  in  his,  a  curious,  deep,  still 
feeling  crept  over  her,  a  queer  sensation  of  complete 
satisfaction  that  she  never  remembered  to  have  felt 
before.  For  a  long  moment  she  stood  there,  her 
cheek  almost  touching  that  outrageous  plaid  tie  that 
had  so  recently  excited  her  derision.  Then  she 
snatched  her  hand  away.  "Look  out !"  she  warned. 
"They  are  coming." 

Two  minutes  later  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ranny,  emerg- 
ing from  the  thicket  with  their  hands  full  of  wild 
flowers,  found  Eleanor  seated  in  the  car  in  a  bored 
attitude,  while  Quin  solicitously  examined  a  rear 
tire. 

"It's  all  settled!"  Mr.  Ranny  cried  exultingly. 
"The  farm  is  ours!" 


CHAPTER  17 

ALTHOUGH  Quin  had  taken  himself  and  his 
career  seriously  before  Eleanor's  home-com- 
ing, it  was  nothing  in  comparison  to  the  fever  of 
energy  that  possessed  him  after  her  departure.  He 
was  determined  to  forge  ahead  in  business,  get  an 
education,  and  become  versed  in  the  gentler  branches 
of  social  life  at  the  earliest  possible  moment.  His 
chief  trouble  was  that  the  days  contained  only 
twenty-four  hours.  Even  his  dreams  were  a  jumble 
of  plows  and  personal  pronouns,  of  mathematical 
problems  and  social  proprieties. 

At  the  factory  he  flung  himself  into  the  affairs 
of  the  firm  with  a  zeal  that  at  times  bordered  on 
officiousness.  But  Mr.  Bangs  was  beginning  to  find 
him  useful,  and,  while  he  continued  to  snub  him  and 
correct  him,  he  also  came  to  depend  upon  him,  es- 
pecially in  an  emergency.  Quin,  on  his  part,  was 
for  the  first  time  turning  a  critical  eye  on  his  own 
achievements  in  relation  to  those  of  bigger  and  abler 
men,  and  the  result  was  chastening. 

As  for  his  mad  thirst  for  knowledge,  even  the 
university  classes,  difficult  as  they  were  proving, 
failed  to  satisfy  him..  He  purchased  an  expensive 

199 


200  QUIN 

"system"  in  fifteen  volumes,  by  means  of  which, 
the  prospectus  assured  him,  he  could  easily  achieve 
a  college  education  in  eight  months.  He  wore  the 
covers  off  the  first  two  booklets,  then  became  dis- 
gusted, and  devoted  himself  instead  to  a  small  hand- 
book entitled  "Words  We  Mispronounce." 

The  branch  of  his  education  in  which  he  was  mak- 
ing least  effort  and  most  progress  was  in  the  customs 
and  manners  of  polite  society.  He  did  not  shine  as 
yet,  but  he  had  ceased  to  offend,  and  that  was  a  long 
step  forward.  Once  initiated  into  the  refinements 
of  life,  he  took  to  them  naturally.  Miss  Isobel  and 
Miss  Enid  Bartlett  had  given  him  the  cue,  and  Mr. 
Chester  was  keeping  him  up  to  his  standard. 

Between  him  and  the  latter  had  sprung  up  a  queer 
friendship  verging  on  intimacy.  Ever  since  the 
night  of  the  symphony  concert  he  had  served  as  a 
connecting  link  between  the  long-severed  lovers,  and 
out  of  gratitude  he  had  been  adopted  as  a  protege. 
It  was  Mr.  Chester  who  assumed  responsibility  not 
only  for  his  musical  and  literary  tastes  but  for  his 
neckties  and  hosiery  as  well.  Mr.  Chester,  in  fact, 
being  too  negative  and  conservative,  acted  as  a 
much-needed  soft  pedal  on  Quin's  noisy  aggressive- 
ness. "Not  so  loud,  Quinby,"  or,  "A  little  more 
gently,  my  boy,"  he  would  often  say.  And  Quin 
would  acquiesce  good-naturedly  and  even  gratefully. 
"That's  right,  call  me  down,"  he  would  say;  "I 
guess  I  '11  learn  before  I  die." 


QUIN  201 

In  all  that  he  did  and  said  and  thought,  one  object 
was  paramount.  He  never  lost  sight  of  the  fact  that 
he  was  making  himself  over  for  Eleanor,  and  the 
prize  at  stake  was  so  colossal  that  no  obstacles  de- 
terred him.  To  be  sure,  this  was  not  by  any  means 
his  first  amatory  venture.  As  Rose  Martel  had  said, 
he  "had  a  way  with  him" — a  way  that  had  kept  him 
involved  in  affairs  of  the  heart  since  the  early  days 
in  Nanking  when  he  had  succumbed  to  the  charms 
of  a  slant-eyed  little  Celestial  at  the  tender  age  of 
seven.  He  had  always  had  a  girl,  just  as  he  had 
always  had  a  job;  but  both  had  varied  with  time 
and  place.  With  a  vocabulary  of  a  dozen  words  and 
the  sign  language,  he  had  managed  to  flirt  across 
France  and  back  again.  He  had  f  rivoled  with  half  a 
dozen  trained  nurses  in  as  many  different  hospitals, 
and  had  even  had  a  sentimental  round  with  a  pretty 
young  stewardess  on  the  transport  coming  home. 

But  this  affair  had  been  quite  different.  Instead 
of  wading  about  in  the  shallows  of  love,  he  had 
tumbled  in  head  first,  and  found  himself  beyond  his 
depth  and  out  of  sight  of  land.  It  was  a  case  of 
sink  or  swim,  and  Quin  was  determined  not  to  sink 
if  he  could  help  himself. 

The  fact  that  Eleanor  Bartlett  was  not  of  his 
world,  that  she  apparently  never  gave  him  a  second 
thought,  that  he  had  less  than  nothing  on  which  to 
build  his  hopes,  only  made  him  take  a  deeper  breath 
and  a  longer  stroke. 


202  QUIN 

The  first  gleam  of  encouragement  he  had  received 
was  that  Sunday  in  the  country,  when  for  the  frac- 
tion of  a  second  she  had  let  him  hold  her  hand.  Since 
then  he  had  written  her  five  letters  and  received  but 
one  brief  note  in  reply.  Her  silence,  however,  did  not 
depress  him.  She  had  told  him  she  hated  to  write 
letters,  a  sentiment  he  fully  shared.  Only  in  this 
case  he  could  not  help  himself.  The  moment  any- 
thing of  interest  happened,  he  was  seized  with  an 
uncontrollable  impulse  to  tell  Eleanor.  He  would 
rush  home  from  the  university  at  night,  go  up  to 
his  room,  and,  using  the  corner  of  his  bureau  for 
a  desk,  cover  pages  of  lined  tablet  paper  with  a  de- 
tailed account  of  the  day's  adventures.  .When  every 
doubtful  word  has  to  be  looked  up  in  the  dictionary, 
and  newly  acquired  knowledge  concerning  participles 
and  personal  pronouns  duly  applied,  letter-writing 
is  a  serious  business.  Sometimes  a  page  was  copied 
three  times  before  it  met  with  the  critical  approval 
of  the  composer. 

Since  the  passing  of  the  acute  financial  crisis  in 
the  Martel  family,  Papa  Claude  had  revived  amaz- 
ingly, and  was  once  more  wearing  a  rose  in  his 
buttonhole  and  courting  the  Muse.  He  and  Harold 
Phipps  spent  several  afternoons  a  week  working  on 
their  play,  which  they  hoped  to  get  fully  blocked  out 
before  the  latter  left  the  service  and  returned  to  his 
home  in  Chicago. 

But,  even  though  the  sale  of  the  farm  had  re- 


QUIN  203 

lieved  the  financial  strain,  some  other  trouble  was 
brewing  in  the  family,  the  cause  of  which  Quin  could 
not  make  out.  The  usually  sunny  atmosphere  was 
disturbed  by  frequent  electric  storms  between  Cass 
and  Rose,  marked  by  stern  disapproval  on  his  part 
and  fiery  rebellion  on  hers.  "Rose  is  going  to  get 
herself  into  trouble !"  Cass  predicted  darkly  to  Quin; 
while  Rose,  on  her  part,  declared  that  Cass  should 
shave  his  head  and  enter  a  monastery. 

"What  are  you  two  ragging  about,  anyhow?" 
Quin  asked  one  morning  at  breakfast,  when  things 
were  worse  than  usual. 

"Rose  knows  what  I  'm  talking  about,"  said  Cass 
significantly.  "Somebody  's  going  to  get  his  face 
pushed  in  if  things  keep  on  like  they  are  going." 

Absorption  in  his  own  affairs  alone  prevented 
Quin  from  taking  an  immediate  hand  in  this  new 
family  complication.  It  was  not  until  late  in  May 
that  he  hit  upon  the  truth,  quite  by  accident. 

Coming  home  rather  later  than  usual  one  night,  he 
stumbled  over  Cass  sitting  hunched  up  on  the  dark 
stairway,  looking  in  his  striped  pajamas  like  an  es- 
caped convict. 

"What  in  the  devil  are  you  up  to?"  Quin  de- 
manded, rubbing  a  bruised  shin. 

"I  am  waiting  for  Rose,"  said  Cass  grimly. 
"Some  fellow  comes  by  here  every  few  nights  and 
takes  her  out  in  a  machine," 

"Who  is  he?" 


204  QUIN 

"I  don't  know — that 's  what  I  'm  going  to  find 
out." 

"You  crazy  wop!''  said  Quin.  "What 's  got  into 
you  lately?  Can't  you  trust  Rose  to  take  care  of 
herself?" 

"Yes ;  but  I  don't  trust  any  fellow  that  '11  go  with 
a  girl  and  be  ashamed  to  be  seen  with  her." 

"How  do  you  know  he  's  ashamed  to  be  seen  with 
her?" 

"Because  he  comes  sneaking  in  here  after  we  Ve 
all  gone  to  bed.  He  don't  ring  the  door-bell;  he 
honks  once  or  twice;  and  then  I  hear  Rose  slipping 
past  my  door." 

"I  did  n't  know  any  of  Rose's  beaux  had  a 
machine." 

"They  have  n't.  This  is  some  rich  guy  that  thinks 
any  girl  that  works  for  her  living  is  an  easy  mark. 
I  '11  show  him  a  thing  or  two !  I  '11  break  his 

damned Listen !  There 's  an  automobile 

stopping  now." 

He  started  excitedly  down  the  steps,  but  Quin 
grasped  his  arms. 

"Come  back  here,  Cass !  You  can't  go  cavorting 
out  there  in  your  pajamas,  making  a  mess  of  things. 
You  leave  it  to  me.  I  '11  go  out  the  side  way  and 
amble  around  to  the  front  door  the  same  time  they 
do.  They  '11  think  I  'm  just  getting  home,  and  I 
can  size  him  up  for  you." 

The  next  moment  he  was  out  of  the  house,  over 


QUIN  205 

the  low  hedge,  and  casually  sauntering  toward  the 
corner.  The  night  was  very  dark,  lightened  only 
by  the  swinging  street  lamp  and  the  two  staring  eyes 
of  an  automobile  that  had  stopped  a  little  distance 
from  the  house.  Quin  saw  Rose  dart  out  of  the 
shadows  and  run  toward  the  house.  Some  one 
called  her  name  softly  and  peremptorily,  but  she  did 
not  stop.  A  man  was  following  her  out  of  the 
shadows.  But  Quin  did  not  wait  for  him  to  arrive ; 
he  promptly  stepped  around  the  corner  and  met  Rose 
at  the  front  gate. 

"What 's  up?"  he  demanded,  seeing  her  quivering 
lips  and  angry,  excited  eyes. 

"Tell  him  to  go  away!''  she  whispered,  trying  to 
get  the  gate  open.  "Tell  him  I  never  want  him  to 
speak  to  me  again.  He  can't  apologize — there  is  n't 
anything  he  can  say.  Just  make  him  go  away,  that 's 
all." 

"Miss  Martel  is  making  a  mountain  out  of  a  mole- 
hill," said  a  suave  voice  behind  them,  and,  turning, 
Quin  saw  the  somewhat  perturbed  face  of  Harold 
Phipps.  "If  she  would  listen  to  me  for  two  min- 
utes  " 

"But  I  won't — not  for  one  minute !  You  sha'n't 
speak  to  me " 

"Just  one  word  alone  with  you " 

"See  here,"  said  Quin,  stepping  between  them  and 
looking  Harold  Phipps  squarely  in  the  eyes.  "You 
heard  what  she  said,  didn't  you?" 


206  QUIN 

"Yes ;  but  I  insist  upon  her  listening  to  me.  She 
entirely  misunderstood  something  I  said." 

"I  did  not!"  Rose  broke  in  furiously.  "You 
know  perfectly  well  I  did  n't.  I  won't  listen  to  any- 
thing you  have  to  say  on  that  or  any  other  subject." 

"I  sha'n't  let  you  go  until  you  do,"  he  replied  in 
his  most  authoritative  tone. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will,"  said  Quin  quietly.  "I  don't 
know  what  the  row  's  about,  but  she  does  n't  have 
to  talk  to  you  if  she  does  n't  want  to." 

For  a  moment  the  two  men  stood  silently  measur- 
ing each  other;  then  the  one  in  uniform  gave  a 
slight  shrug  and  permitted  himself  a  faint  superior 
smile. 

"I  see,"  he  said.  "The  young  lady's  conduct  did 
not  lead  me  to  suppose  she  was  engaged.  I  con- 
gratulate you !"  And,  turning  on  his  heel,  he  went 
back  to  his  car. 

Rose  turned  quickly  and  seized  Quin's  arm. 

"Don't  tell  anybody  about  this,  please,"  she  im- 
plored. "I  've  had  my  lesson — the  beast!" 

"What  did  he  do?"  demanded  Quin,  longing  for 
an  excuse  to  annihilate  Phipps. 

"It  was  n't  so  much  what  he  did — it  was  what  he 
said.  But  you  've  got  to  promise  not  to  give  me 
away,  Quin.  You  must  n't  let  on  that  I  was  out 
to-night." 

"But  Cass  is  on  to  it.  He 's  waiting  there  in  the 
hall  now." 


QUIN  207 

She  caught  her  breath  sharply. 

"Does  he  know  who  I  was  with?" 

"Not  yet" 

"Then  he  must  n't.  It  would  spoil  everything  for 
Papa  Claude  and  the  play;  and,  besides,  Cass  is  so 
excitable.  I  haven't  done  anything  wrong,  Quin! 
I  was  just  out  for  a  little  fun,  and  that  contemptible 
puppy  thought " 

"I  wish  to  God  I  'd  cracked  his  bean !"  said  Quin 
fervently. 

"Promise  me  that  you  won't  tell !" 

"I  won't  tell,  but  I  intend  to  have  it  out  with 
him." 

"No,  no!"  she  whispered  hysterically.  "I  tell 
you,  nothing  more  must  be  said  about  it.  It  was 
partly  my  fault ;  only,  I  did  n't  know  he  was  that 
kind  of  a  man.  You  know  yourself  I  never  really 
liked  him.  Only  it  was  fun  to  go  out  in  his  car,  and 
I  get  so  sick  of  not  having  any  clothes  or  money 
and  having  to  stay  in  that  deadly  old  store  day  in 
and  day  out !" 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed 
violently  for  a  moment;  then  she  caught  hold  of 
Quin's  sleeve. 

"You  won't  speak  to  him,"  she  implored,  "and 
you  won't  tell  Cass?" 

"I  won't  do  anything  you  don't  want  me  to," 
promised  Quin,  proffering  his  handkerchief  with 


208  QUIN 

his  sympathy.  "It 's  your  shooting-match,  and  Cass 
has  got  to  keep  his  hands  off." 

Cass  at  this  moment  cautiously  opened  the  front 
door,  and  stood  in  his  bare  feet,  viewing  them  with 
anxious  suspicion. 

"It 's  all  right,  old  cove,"  said  Quin,  slipping  Rose 
into  the  house  and  pulling  the  door  to  after  her. 
"No  harm  's  done,  and  she  won't  do  it  again." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Because  she  and  the  fellow  had  a  blow-out.  She 
says  she  is  through  with  him  for  good  and  all." 

"Did  you  see  him?" 

"Yes ;  he  's  a  average-sized  fellow  with  a  smooth 
face  and  brown  hair." 

"Would  you  know  him  if  you  saw  him  again?" 

"Sure.  I  '11  keep  an  eye  out  for  him.  But  you  've 
got  to  leave  it  to  me,  I  can  handle  the  situation  all 
right  now,  if  you  just  won't  butt  in." 

"If  you  can  get  Rose  to  promise  not  to  see  him 
again,  she  '11  stick  to  it;  I  can  say  that  for  her." 

"She  won't  see  him.  They  've  quarreled,  I  tell 
you.  I  heard  her  balling  him  out  good  before  he 
left.  The  whole  thing  is  settled,  and  all  you  got  to 
do  is  to  button  up  your  lip  and  go  to  bed." 

A  week  later  Papa  Claude  announced  that  Harold 
Phipps  was  at  last  released  from  his  onerous  duties 
in  the  army  and  had  returned  to  his  home  in  Chicago, 
where  he  would  in  future  devote  himself  to  the 
writing  and  producing  of  great  American  plays. 


CHAPTER  18 

IN  everybody's  life  there  are  hours  or  days  or 
even  weeks  that  refuse  to  march  on  with  the 
solemn  procession  of  time,  but  lag  behind  and  hide 
in  some  byway  of  memory,  there  to  remain  for  ever 
and  ever.  It  was  such  a  week  that  tumbled  unex- 
pectedly out  of  Quin's  calendar  about  the  first  of 
June,  and  lived  itself  in  terms  of  sunshine  and  roses, 
of  moonshine  and  melody,  seven  halcyon  days  be- 
tween the  time  that  Eleanor  returned  from  school 
and  the  Bartletts  went  away  for  the  summer.  For 
the  first  time  since  he  met  her,  she  seemed  to  have 
nothing  more  demanding  to  do  than  to  emulate  "the 
innocent  moon,  who  nothing  does  but  shine,  and  yet 
moves  all  the  slumbering  surges  of  the  world." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  Quin's  "slumbering 
surges"  being  moved.  Within  twenty- four  hours  of 
her  return  to  town  he  became  totally  and  hopelessly 
demoralized.  Education  and  business  were,  after 
all,  but  means  to  an  end,  and  when  he  saw  what  he 
conceived  to  be  a  short  cut  to  heaven,  he  rashly 
discarded  wings  and  leaped  toward  his  heart's  desire. 

The  hour  before  closing  at  the  factory  became 
a  time  of  acute  torture.  He  who  usually  stayed  till 

209 


210  QUIN 

the  last  minute,  engrossed  in  winding  up  the  affairs 
of  the  day,  now  seemed  perfectly  willing  to  trust 
their  completion  to  any  one  who  would  undertake  it.j 
The  instant  the  whistle  blew  he  was  off  like  a  shot, 
out  of  the  factory  yard,  clinging  to  the  platform  of 
a  crowded  trolley,  catching  an  interurban  car,  plung- 
ing through  a  thicket,  down  an  old  lane,  and  emerg- 
ing into  Paradise. 

The  Rannys  were  having  the  adventure  of  their 
lives  with  the  secret  farm,  an  adventure  shared  with 
equal  enthusiasm  by  their  co-conspirators.  "Valley 
Mead"  was  proving  the  most  marvelous  of  forbid- 
den playthings,  and  was  doing  for  Randolph  Bartlett 
what  doctors  and  sanitariums  and  tears  and  threats 
had  failed  to  do.  The  old  place  had  been  overhauled, 
the  house  made  habitable,  and  now  that  furnishing 
was  in  progress,  each  day  brought  new  and  fascinat- 
ing developments. 

Eleanor  had  arrived  from  school  just  in  time  to 
fling  herself  heart  and  soul  into  the  enterprise.  By 
a  happy  chance  she  had  been  allowed  to  spend  the 
week  with  the  Randolph  Bartletts,  only  reporting 
to  her  grandmother  from  time  to  time  for  consulta- 
tions regarding  summer  clothes.  Her  strange  in- 
difference to  this  usually  all-important  question,  to- 
gether with  her  insistent  plea  to  remain  in  Kentucky 
all  summer,  might  have  aroused  the  old  lady's  sus- 
picion had  she  not  long  ago  decided  that  the  explana- 
tion of  all  Eleanor's  motives  was  perversity. 


QUIN  21 1 

Every  morning  Eleanor  and  Mrs.  Ranny  went  out 
to  the  farm,  and  worked  with  enthusiasm.  Each 
piece  of  furniture  that  was  taken  out  of  the  crate 
was  hailed  with  delight  and  dragged  from  one  place 
to  another  to  try  its  effect.  The  hanging  of  curtains 
was  suspended  while  they  rushed  out  to  see  the 
newly  arrived  rabbits  with  their  meek  eyes  and 
tremulous  pink  mouths,  or  dashed  out  to  the  poultry- 
yard  to  have  another  look  at  the  downy  little  fluffs 
of  yellow  that  were  pretending  to  be  chickens. 

But  the  real  excitement  of  the  day  was  when  the 
workmen  had  departed,  and  Mr.  Ranny  came  out 
with  his  machine  laden  with  priceless  treasures  from 
the  ten-cent  store,  or  later  when  Quin  Graham 
dashed  up  the  lane  with  anything  from  a  garden- 
spade  to  a  bird-house  in  his  hands,  and  with  an 
enthusiasm  and  energy  in  his  soul  that  communi- 
cated themselves  to  all  concerned.  Then  everybody 
would  talk  at  once,  and  everybody  insist  upon  show- 
ing everybody  else  what  had  been  done  since  morn- 
ing, and  there  was  more  hanging  of  pictures  and 
changing  of  furniture,  and  so  much  chatter  and 
laughter  that  it  was  a  wonder  anything  was  ac- 
complished. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ranny  had  agreed  that  they  would 
make  Valley  Mead  livable  at  the  least  possible  ex- 
pense, looking  forward  to  a  future  day  to  make  the 
improvements  that  would  require  much  outlay  of 
money.  The  pride  and  satisfaction  they  took  in 


212  QUIN 

their  petty  economies  were  such  as  only  the  inexpe- 
rienced wealthy  can  feel. 

As  for  Quin,  he  moved  through  the  enchanted 
days,  blind,  deaf,  and  dumb  to  everything  but 
Eleanor.  She  was  the  dazzling  sun  in  whose 
effulgent  rays  the  rest  of  humanity  floated  like 
midges,  So  wholly  blinded  was  he  by  her  radiant 
presence  that  he  did  not  realize  the  darkness  into 
which  he  was  about  to  be  plunged  until  her  departure 
was  imminent. 

The  evening  before  she  left  found  them  perched 
upon  the  orchard  stile,  in  that  stage  of  intimacy  that 
permitted  him  to  sit  at  her  feet  and  toy  pensively 
writh  the  tassel  on  her  girdle  while  his  eyes  said  the 
unutterable  things  that  his  lips  were  forbidden  to 
utter. 

The  sky  was  flooded  with  luminous  color,  neither 
blue  nor  pink,  but  something  deliciously  between, 
and  down  below  them  fields  of  wheat  rippled  under 
the  magic  light. 

"We  ought  to  go  in,"  said  Eleanor  for  the  third 
time.  "We  've  been  out  here  an  outrageously  long 
time." 

"They  won't  miss  us,"  pleaded  Quin;  "besides, 
it 's  our  last  night." 

"Don't  talk  about  it!"  said  Eleanor.  "It  makes 
me  so  cross  to  have  to  leave  it  all  at  the  most  excit- 
ing time !  When  I  get  back  everything  will  be 
finished  and  the  fun  all  over." 


QUIN  213 

"When  are  you  coming  back?" 

"Not  until  September.  We  have  to  come  home 
then.  Something  's  going  to  happen." 

Quin  stopped  twisting  the  tassel  and  looked  at  her 
quickly. 

"What?"  he  demanded. 

"Can  you  keep  a  secret?" 

"Yes." 

"It 's  a  wedding,  Quin." 

If  the  earth  had  suddenly  quaked  beneath  him  he 
could  not  have  experienced  a  more  horrible  sense 
of  devastation.  He  put  out  a  hand  as  if  to  steady 
himself. 

"You  don't  mean "  he  began,  and  could  get 

no  further. 

"Yes,  I  do.  It's  to  be  a  home  wedding,  very 
quiet,  with  only  the  family,  and  afterward  they  are 
going  out  to  the  coast." 

"Who  are?"  he  asked  dully, 

"Aunt  Enid  and  Mr.  Chester.  After  waiting  for 
twenty  years.  Is  n't  it  too  funny  for  words?" 

Quin  thought  it  was.  He  threw  himself  back  and 
shouted.  He  had  never  enjoyed  a  joke  so  much  in 
his  life.  It  seemed  replete  with  humor,  especially 
when  he  shared  with  Eleanor  the  part  he  had  played 
in  bringing  them  together  and  described  the  waltz 
on  the  landing  the  night  of  the  Easter  party.  With 
the  arrogance  of  youth  they  laughed  hilariously  at 
the  late  blooming  romance. 


214  QUIN 

"What  about  Queen  Vic?"  asked  Quin.  "How 
did  they  ever  get  her  consent?" 

"They  did  n't  ask  for  it.  After  letting  her  keep 
them  apart  all  these  years,  they  just  announced  that 
they  were  going  to  be  married  in  September.  I 
expect  she  raised  the  roof ;  but  when  she  saw  it  was 
all  settled  and  she  could  n't  unsettle  it,  she  came 
around  and  told  Aunt  Enid  she  could  be  married 
at  home." 

"Good  work !"  said  Quin,  who  was  genuinely  fond 
of  both  Miss  Enid  and  Mr.  Chester.  "How  is  Miss 
Isobel  taking  it?" 

"Better  than  you  would  think.  I  don't  know  what 
has  come  over  Aunt  Isobel,  she's  so  much  nicer  than 
she  used  to  be.  The  boys  out  at  the  hospital  have 
made  her  over." 

"Miss  Isobel's  a  pippin,"  said  Quin,  in  a  tone  that 
implied  a  compliment.  "You  ought  to  have  seen 
how  she  looked  after  me  when  I  was  sick.  Has 
Madam  found  out  about  her  going  out  to  camp  ?" 

"Yes ;  but  she  has  n't  stopped  her.  Something 
you  said  once  about  everybody  having  a  right  to  do 
his  duty  as  he  saw  it  made  Aunt  Isobel  take  a  firm 
stand  and  stick  it  out.  You  have  certainly  jolted 
the  family  out  of  its  ruts,  Quin.  Look  at  Uncle 
Ranny;  would  you  ever  take  him  for  the  same  per- 
son he  was  six  months  ago?" 

Quin  removed  his  enamored  gaze  from  her  face 
long  enough  to  glance  toward  the  house,  where  the 


QUIN  215 

usually  elegant  useless  Randolph  was  perched  in 
the  crotch  of  an  old  ash  tree,  sawing  off  a  dead  limb, 
and  singing  as  he  sawed. 

"Well,  when  it  comes  to  him,  I  guess  I  have  had 
a  finger  in  the  pie,"  said  Quin  with  pardonable  pride. 
"He  has  n't  slipped  the  trolley  for  two  months ;  and 
if  he  can  stay  on  the  track  now,  it  will  be  a  cinch  for 
him  after  the  first  of  July.  All  he  needed  was  a 
real  interest  in  life,  and  a  chance  to  work  things 
out  for  himself." 

"It's  what  we  all  need,"  Eleanor  said  gloomily. 
"I  wish  I  could  do  what  I  liked." 

"What  would  you  do?" 

"I'd  go  straight  to  New  York  and  study  for  the 
stage.  It  is  n't  a  whim — it 's  what  I  Ve  wanted  most 
to  do  ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl.  I  may  not  have 
any  great  talent,  but  Papa  Claude  thinks  I  have.  So 
does  Captain  Phipps.  To  have  to  wait  a  whole  year 
until  I  'm  of  age  is  too. stupid  for  words.  It 's  just 
some  more  of  grandmother's  tyranny,  and  I  'm  not 
going  to  submit  much  longer ;  would  you  ?" 

Quin  contemplated  his  clasped  fists  earnestly.  For 
the  first  time,  his  belief  in  the  consent  of  the  gov- 
erned admitted  of  exceptions. 

"I  'd  go  a  bit  slow,"  he  said,  feeling  his  own  way 
cautiously.  "This  stage  business  is  a  doubtful 
proposition.  I  don't  see  where  the  fun  comes  in, 
pretending  to  be  somebody  else  all  the  time." 


216  QUIN 

"You  would  if  you  didn't  like  being  yourself. 
Besides,  I  don't  live  my  own  life  as  it  is." 

"You  will  some  day — when  you  get  married." 

"But  that 's  just  it !  I  don't  intend  to  marry — I 
am  going  to  devote  my  whole  life  to  my  work," 

Quin,  having  but  recently  recovered  from  the  fear 
that  she  was  contemplating  matrimony,  now  under- 
went a  similar  torture  at  her  avowal  that  she  was 
not.  The  second  possibility  was  only  a  shade  less 
appalling  than  the  first. 

"The  trouble  is,"  she  went  on  very  confidentially, 
"I  am  not  interested  in  anything  in  the  world  but 
my  art." 

"Oh,  come  now,  Miss  Eleanor !"  Quin  rallied  her. 
"You  know  you  were  interested  in  the  work  out 
at  the  camp." 

"That 's  true.     I  except  that." 

"And  you  can't  say  you  haven't  been  interested 
in  our  selling  this  farm,  and  getting  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Ranny  fixed  up,  and  all  that." 

"Of  course  I  Ve  been  interested  in  that;  it 's  been 
no  end  of  fun." 

"And  then,"  Quin  pursued  his  point  quite  braz- 
enly, "there 's  me.  I  hope  you  are  a  little  bit 
interested  in  me?" 

She  tried  to  take  it  lightly,  "Interested  in  you? 
Why,  of  course  I  am.  We  all  are.  Uncle  Ranny 
was  saying  only  this  morning " 

"I  don't  care  a  hang  what  he  said.    It 's  you  I  'm 


QUIN  217 

talking  about.  Do  you  like  me  any  better  than  you 
did  in  the  spring?" 

"You  silly  boy,  I  've  always  liked  you." 

"But  I  told  you  I  wanted  a  lot.  Have  I  made  any 
headway?" 

"Headway?  I  should  say  you  have.  I  never  saw 
such  improvement!  If  the  university  classes  have 
done  this  much  for  you  in  four  months,  what  will 
you  be  by  the  end  of  the  year?" 

"That's  right,"  said  Quin  bitterly.  "Open  the 
switch  and  sidetrack  me !  But  just  tell  me  one  thing : 
is  there  anybody  you  are  interested  in?" 

"Now,  see  here,  Quin/'  said  Eleanor  peremptor- 
ily, "you  have  n't  any  right  to  ask  me  questions  like 
that.  All  I  promised  was  that  you  could  be  my 
chum." 

"Yes;  but  I  meant  a  chum  plus." 

"Well,  you'd  better  look  out  or  you  will  be  a 
chum  minus."  Then  she  caught  sight  of  his  eyes, 
and  leaned  forward  in  sudden  contrition.  "I  'm 
sorry  to  hurt  you,  Quin,  but  you  must  under- 
stand  " 

"I  do,"  he  admitted  miserably.  "Only  this  week 
out  here  together,  and  the  way  you  've  looked  at 

me  sometimes,  made  me  kind  of  hope "  His 

voice  broke.  "It 's  all  right.  I  '11  wait  some  more." 

This  was  the  time  Eleanor  should  have  carried 
out  her  intention  of  going  back  to  the  house.  In- 
stead, she  sat  on  in  the  deepening  twilight  under  the 


218  QUIN 

feminine  delusion  that  she  was  being  good  to  the 
miserable  youth  who  sat  huddled  close  to  her  knees 
on  the  step  below  her. 

Through  his  whole  big  being  Quin  was  quivering 
with  the  sense  of  her  nearness,  afraid  to  move  for 
fear  something  stronger  than  his  will  would  make 
him  seize  her  slender  little  body  and  crush  it  to  him 
in  an  agony  of  tenderness  and  yearning. 

"How  beautiful  it  is  out  here  now!"  she  said 
softly.  "Don't  you  love  the  feel  of  wings  every- 
where? Little  flying  things  going  home?  Every- 
thing seems  to  be  whispering!" 

Quin  did  not  answer.  He  sat  silent  and  immovable 
until  the  light  in  the  valley  had  quite  faded,  and  the 
twitter  of  the  birds  had  been  superseded  by  the 
monotonous,  mournful  plaint  of  a  whip-poor-will  in 
a  distant  tree.  Then  he  stirred  and  looked  up  at 
Eleanor  with  a  rueful  smile. 

"I  know  what 's  the  matter  with  that  damned  old 
bird,"  he  said.  "He's  in  love!" 


CHAPTER  19 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  fact  that  the  sale 
of  the  Martels'  house  was  averted  and  Rose's 
affair  with  Harold  Phipps  successfully  terminated, 
catastrophe,  which  was  evidently  due  the  family, 
arrived  before  the  summer  had  fairly  begun.  The 
irrepressible  Claude  had  no  sooner  weighed  the 
anchor  of  responsibility  than  he  set  sail  for  New 
York  to  embark  once  more  on  dramatic  waters.  He 
had  secured  a  small  part  in  a  summer  stock  com- 
pany which  would  leave  him  ample  time  to  work  on 
"Phantom  Love,"  which  he  confidently  counted  upon 
to  retrieve  his  fortunes.  The  withdrawal  of  even 
his  slender  contribution  to  the  household  expenses 
made  a  difference,  especially  as  Edwin  came  down 
with  the  measles  early  in  July.  Before  the  boy  had 
got  the  green  shade  off  his  afflicted  eyes,  Cass  was 
laid  low  with  typhoid  fever. 

No  other  event  in  the  family  could  have  wrought 
such  disastrous  results.  Rose  was  compelled  to  give 
up  her  position  to  nurse  him,  and  while  the  income 
ceased  the  expenses  piled  up  enormously. 

Nothing  was  more  natural  than  that  Quinby  Gra- 
ham should  fling  himself  into  the  breacha  His  in- 

219 


220  QUIN 

timacy  with  Cass  had  begun  on  the  transport  going 
to  France,  and  continued  with  unabated  zeal  until 
he  was  wounded  in  the  summer  of  1918.  For  six 
months  he  had  lost  sight  of  him,  only  to  find  him 
again  in  the  hospital  at  Camp  Zachary  Taylor.  He 
was  not  one  to  share  the  privileges  of  Cass's  home 
without  also  sharing  its  hardships. 

"It 's  a  shame  we  v'e  got  to  take  help  from  you/' 
said  Rose;  "just  when  you  are  beginning  to  get 
ahead,  too!" 

"You  cut  that  out,"  said  Quin.  "I  'd  like  to  know 
if  you  did  n't  take  me  in  and  treat  me  like  one  of 
the  family?  Ain't  Cass  the  best  friend  a  man  ever 
had  ?  And  would  n't  he  do  as  much  and  more  for 
me?" 

But  even  Quin's  salary  failed  to  meet  the  emer- 
gency. Doctor's  bills,  drug  bills,  grocery  bills,  be- 
came more  and  more  formidable.  One  day  Rose 
was  reduced  to  selling  two  of  Papa  Claude's  auto- 
graphed photographs. 

"I  wouldn't  do  that — yet,"  said  Quin,  who  had 
begun  to  walk  to  the  factory  to  save  carfare.  "Those 
old  boys  and  girls  are  his  friends;  we  can't  sell 
them.  I  can  see  him  now  talking  to  'em  through 
his  pipe  smoke.  I  ought  to  have  some  junk  we  can 
soak.  Let 's  go  see." 

The  investigation  resulted  in  the  conversion  of 
a  pair  of  new  wing-toed  dancing-shoes  and  a  silver 
cigarette-case  into  an  ice-bag  and  an  electric 


QUIN  221 

"I  could  stand  everything  else,"  said  Rose,  "if  we 
could  just  get  the  children  out  of  the  house.  Edwin 
is  still  as  weak  as  a  kitten,  and  Myrna  looks  as  if 
she  might  come  down  with  the  fever  any  day." 

Quin  had  a  brilliant  idea.  "Why  not  ship  'em 
both  to  the  country?  Ed  could  come  to  town  to 
work  every  day,  and  Myrna  could  help  somebody 
around  the  house." 

"That  sounds  mighty  fine;  but  who  is  going  to 
take  two  children  to  board  for  nothing?" 

"I  don't  know  yet,"  said  Quin;  "that 's  what  I  've 
got  to  find  out." 

That  night  he  went  out  to  Valley  Mead  and  put 
the  matter  squarely  up  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ranny. 

"We  're  up  against  it  at  our  house,"  he  said ;  "I 
want  to  borrow  something  from  you  two  good 
(people." 

"You  can  have  anything  we  've  got !"  said  Mr. 
Ranny  rashly. 

"Well,  I  want  to  borrow  some  fresh  air  for  a 
couple  of  sick  kids.  I  want  you  to  ask  'em  out 
here  for  a  week." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ranny  looked  aghast  at  the  pre- 
posterous suggestion,  but  Quin  gave  them  no  time 
to  demur.  He  plunged  into  explanation,  and 
clinched  his  argument  by  saying: 

"Ed  would  only  be  here  at  night,  and  Myrna 
could  help  around  the  house.  They  are  bully 


222  QUIN 

youngsters.  No  end  of  fun,  and  they  wouldn't 
give  you  a  bit  of  trouble." 

"But  I  have  only  one  maid!"  protested  Mrs. 
Ranny. 

"What  of  that?"  said  Quin.  "Myrna's  used  to 
working  at  home ;  she  'd  be  glad  to  help  you." 

"If  it  was  anybody  on  earth  but  the  Martels," 
Mr.  Ranny  objected,  with  contracted  brow.  "The 
families  have  been  at  daggers'  points  for  years. 
Why,  the  very  name  of  Martel  makes  mother  see 
red." 

"Well,  the  children  aren't  responsible  for  that!" 
Quin  broke  in  impatiently;  then  he  pulled  himself 
up.  "However,  if  you  don't  want  to  do  'em  a  good 
turn,  that  settles  it." 

"But  it  does  n't  settle  it,"  said  Mr.  Ranny. 
"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  them?" 

"Hanged  if  I  know,"  said  Quin;  "but  you  bet 
I  '11  do  something." 

The  conversation  then  wandered  off  to  Eleanor, 
and  Quin  listened  with  vague  misgivings  to  accounts 
of  her  good  times — yachting  parties,  tennis  tourna- 
ments, rock  teas,  shore  dinners — all  of  which  sug- 
gested to  him  an  appallingly  unfamiliar  world. 

"I  tell  you  wrho  was  up  there  for  a  week,"  said 
Mr.  Ranny.  "Harold  Phipps.  You  remember 
meeting  him  at  our  apartment  last  spring?" 

"What's  he  doing  there?"  Quin  demanded  with 
such  vehemence  that  they  both  laughed. 


QUIN  223 

"Probably  making  life  miserable  for  Mother 
Bartlett,"  said  Mrs.  Ranny.  "I  can't  imagine  how 
she  ever  consented  to  have  him  come,  or  how  he 
ever  had  the  nerve  to  go,  after  the  way  they  've 
treated  him." 

"Harold  's  not  concerned  with  the  feelings  of  the 
family,"  said  Mr.  Ranny;  "he  is  after  Nell." 

But  Mrs.  Ranny  scorned  the  idea,  "He  looks 
upon  her  as  a  perfect  child,"  she  insisted ;  "besides, 
he  's  too  lazy  and  conceited  to  be  in  love  with  any- 
body but  himself." 

"That  may  be,  but  Nell's  got  him  going  all  right." 

Then  the  conversation  veered  back  to  the  Martels, 
with  the  result  that  an  hour  later  Quin  was  on  his 
way  home  bearing  a  gracefully  worded  note  from 
Mrs.  Ranny  inviting  the  children  to  spend  the  fol- 
lowing week  at  Valley  Mead.  But,  in  spite  of  the 
success  of  his  mission,  he  sat  with  a  box  of  fresh 
eggs  in  his  lap  and  a  huge  bunch  of  flowers  in  his 
hand,  his  hat  rammed  over  his  eyes,  staring  gloomily 
out  of  the  car  window  into  the  starless  night. 

Since  Eleanor's  departure  he  had  had  no  word 
from  her,  and  the  news  that  filtered  through  Valley 
Mead  was  more  disconcerting  than  the  silence.  The 
thought  of  her  dancing,  sailing,  and  motoring  with 
Harold  Phipps  filled  him  with  a  frenzy  oi 
jealousy.  He  grew  bitter  at  the  thought  of  hef 
flitting  heedlessly  from  one  luxurious  pleasure 
to  another,  while  Cass  lay  in  that  stifling  city,  fight- 


224  QUIN 

ing  for  his  life  and  lacking  even  the  necessities  for 
his  comfort. 

Every  week  since  her  departure  he  had  written 
her,  even  though  the  letters  grew  shorter  and 
blunter  as  his  duties  increased.  Up  until  now,  how- 
ever, he,  like  every  one  else,  had  tried  to  shield 
Eleanor  from  anything  ugly  and  sordid.  He  had 
tried  to  make  light  of  the  situation  and  reas- 
sure her  as  to  results ;  but  he  was  determined  to  do 
it  no  longer.  It  wasn't  right,  he  told  himself 
angrily,  for  anybody  to  go  through  life  blinded 
to  all  the  misery  and  suffering  and  poverty  in  the 
world.  He  was  going  to  write  her  to-night  and  tell 
Tier  the  whole  story  and  spare  her  nothing. 

But  he  did  not  write.  When  he  reached  home 
Cass  had  had  a  turn  for  the  worse,  and  there  were 
ice-baths  to  prepare  and  other  duties  to  perform 
that  left  him  no  time  for  himself. 

The  next  day  Edwin  and  Myrna  were  sent  out 
to  the  Randolph  Bartletts',  and  Rose  and  Quin 
cleared  the  decks  for  the  hard  fight  ahead.  Fan 
Loomis  came  in  to  help  nurse  in  the  day-time,  and 
Quin  was  on  duty  through  the  long,  suffocating 
August  nights. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  Cass's  condition  was  so 
serious  that  the  Bartletts  insisted  on  keeping  the 
children  at  the  farm.  Myrna  had  proved  a  cheery, 
helpful  little  companion,  and  Edwin,  while  more 


QUIN  225 

difficult  to  handle,  was  picking  up  flesh  and  color, 
and  was  learning  to  run  the  car. 

Cass's  fever  dragged  on,  going  down  one  day 
only  to  rise  higher  the  next.  Seven  weeks,  eight 
weeks,  nine  weeks  passed,  and  still  no  improvement. 

Quin,  trying  to  keep  up  his  work  at  the  factory 
on  two  or  three  hours'  sleep  out  of  the  twenty- four, 
grew  thin  and  haggard,  and  coughed  more  than  at 
any  time  since  he  had  left  the  hospital.  During  the 
long  night  vigils  he  made  sporadic  efforts  to  keep 
up  his  university  work,  but  he  made  little  headway. 

"Go  on  to  bed,  Quin,"  Rose  whispered  one  night, 
when  she  found  him  asleep  with  his  head  against 
the  bed-post.  "You  '11  be  giving  out  next,  and  God 
knows  what  I  '11  do  then." 

"Not  me!"  he  declared,  suppressing  a  yawn. 
"You  're  the  one  that 's  done  in.  Why  don't  you 
stay  down?'' 

"I  can't,"  she  murmured,  kneeling  anxiously  be- 
side the  unconscious  patient.  "He  looks  worse  to 
me  to-night.  Do  you  believe  we  can  pull  him 
through?" 

She  had  on  a  faded  pink  kimono  over  her  thin 
night-gown,  and  her  heavy  hair  was  plaited  down 
her  back.  There  were  no  chestnut  puffs  over  her 
ears  or  pink  spots  on  her  cheeks,  and  her  lips  looked 
strange  without  their  penciled  cupid's  bow.  But  to 
Quin  there  was  something  in  her  drawn  white  face 
and  anxious,  tender  eyes  that  was  more  appealing. 


226  QUIN 

In  their  long  siege  together  he  had  found  a  staunch 
dependence  and  a  power  of  sacrifice  in  the  girl  that 
touched  him  deeply. 

"I  don't  know,  Rose,"  he  admitted,  reaching  over 
and  smoothing  her  hair ;  "but  we  '11  do  our  darned- 
est." 

At  the  touch  of  his  hand  she  reached  up  and  im- 
pulsively drew  it  down  to  her  cheek,  holding  it  there 
with  her  trembling  lips  against  its  hard  palm. 

The  night  was  intensely  hot  and  still.  That  after- 
noon they  had  moved  Cass  into  Rose's  room  in  the 
hope  of  getting  more  air  from  the  western  exposure; 
but  only  the  hot  smell  of  the  asphalt  and  the  stifling 
odor  of  car  smoke  came  through  the  curtainless 
window.  The  gas-jet,  turned  very  low,  threw  dis- 
torted shadows  on  the  bureau  with  its  medley  of 
toilet  articles  and  medicine  bottles.  Through  the 
open  door  of  the  closet  could  be  seen  Rose's  personal 
belongings;  under  the  table  were  a  pair  of  high- 
heeled  slippers ;  and  two  white  stockings  made  white 
streaks  across  the  window-sill. 

Quin  sat  by  Cass's  bedside,  with  his  hand  clasped 
to  Rose's  cheek,  and  fought  a  battle  that  had  been 
raging  within  him  for  days.  Without  being  in 
the  least  in  love  with  Rose,  he  wanted  desperately 
to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  comfort  her.  They  were 
both  so  tired,  so  miserable,  so  desperately  afraid  of 
that  shadowy  presence  that  hovered  over  Cass. 
They  were  practically  alone  in  the  house,  account- 


QUIN  227 

able  to  no  one,  and  drawn  together  by  an  over- 
whelming anxiety.  In  Rose's  state  of  emotional 
tension  she  was  responsive  to  his  every  look  and 
gesture.  He  had  but  to  hold  out  his  arms  and  she 
would  sink  into  them. 

Again  and  again  his  eyes  traveled  from  her 
bright  tumbled  head  to  Cass's  flushed  face,  with 
its  absurd  round  nose  and  eyes  that  could  no  longer 
keep  watch  over  a  pleasure-loving  sister.  What 
would  happen  if  Cass  should  die  ?  Who  would  take 
care  of  her  and  the  children,  helpless  and  penniless, 
with  only  Papa  Claude  and  his  visions  to  stand 
between  them  and  the  world?  A  great  wave  of 
sympathy  rushed  over  him  for  the  girl  kneeling 
there  with  her  face  buried  in  the  bed-clothes.  She 
had  asked  so  little  of  life — just  a  few  good  times 
to  offset  the  drudgery,  just  an  outlet  for  the  ocean 
of  love  that  was  dammed  up  in  her  small  body. 
Love  was  the  only  thing  she  cared  about;  it  was 
the  only  thing  that  mattered  in  life.  Cass  never 
understood  her,  but  Quin  understood  her.  He  was 
like  that  himself.  The  blood  was  pounding  through 
his  veins  too,  a  terrible  urgence  was  impelling  him 
toward  her.  Why  shouldn't  they  throw  discretion 
to  the  winds  and  answer  the  call? 

Then  his  mind  did  a  curious  thing.  It  brought 
up  out  of  the  sub-conscious  a  question  that  Eleanor 
Bartlett  had  once  asked  him:  "Do  you  think  a 
person  has  a  right  to  go  ahead  and  do  what  he 


228  QUIN 

wants,  regardless  of  consequences?"  He  saw  her 
face,  moonlit  and  earnest,  turned  up  to  his,  and  he 
heard  himself  answering  her:  "That  depends  on 
whether  he  wants  the  right  thing." 

Rose  stirred,  and  he  withdrew  his  hand  and  stood 
up. 

"See  here,  young  lady,"  he  said  with  authority; 
"I  '11  give  you  just  two  minutes  to  clear  out  of 
here!  No,  I  don't  want  you  to  leave  your  door 
open;  I  '11  call  you  if  there  's  any  change." 

"But,  Quin,  I  don't  want  to  be  alone — I  want 
to  be  with  you."  Her  eyes  were  full  of  frank 
appeal,  and  her  lips  trembling. 

"You  are  too  sleepy  to  know  what  you  want," 
he  said.  "Up  with  you — not  another  word.  You  '11 
feel  better  to-morrow.  Good-night."  And  with  a 
little  push  he  put  her  out  of  the  room  and  closed 
the  door. 


CHAPTER  20 

OUIN  stood  under  the  big  car-shed  at  the  Union 
Depot,  and  for  the  sixth  time  in  ten  minutes 
consulted  the  watch  that  was  the  pride  of  his  life. 
He  had  been  waiting  for  half  an  hour,  not  because 
the  train  was  late,  but  because  he  proposed  to  be  on 
the  spot  if  by  any  happy  chance  it  should  arrive 
ahead  of  schedule  time.  The  week  before  he  had  re- 
ceived a  picture  post-card  on  whose  narrow  margin 
were  scrawled  the  meager  lines : 

So  glad  Cass  is  up  again.  Rose  says  you  've  been  a 
brick.  Home  on  Sept.  2.  Hope  to  see  you  soon.  E.  M.  B. 

It  was  the  only  communication  he  had  had  from 
Eleanor  since  they  sat  on  the  stile  in  the  starlight 
at  Valley  Mead  three  months  before.  To  be  sure, 
in  her  infrequent  letters  to  Rose  she  had  always 
added,  "Give  my  love  to  Quinby  Graham,"  and 
once  she  said :  "Tell  him  I  've  been  meaning  to 
write  to  him  all  summer."  Notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  Quin  had  waited  in  vain  for  that  letter 
for  twelve  consecutive  weeks,  that  he  had  passed 
through  every  phase  of  indignation,  jealousy,  and 
consuming  fear  that  can  assail  a  young  and  undis- 

229 


230  QUIN 

ciplined  lover,  he  nevertheless  watched  for  the  in- 
coming train  with  a  rapture  undimmed  by  disturbing 
reflections.  The  mere  fact  that  every  moment  the 
distance  was  lessening  between  him  and  Eleanor, 
that  within  the  hour  he  should  see  her,  hear  her,  feel 
the  clasp  of  her  hand,  was  sufficient  to  send  his 
spirits  soaring  into  sunny  spaces  of  confidence  far 
above  the  clouds  of  doubt. 

"Hello,  Quinby ;  what  are  you  doing  here?"  asked 
a  voice  behind  him;  and  turning  he  saw  the  long, 
oval  face  and  lady-like  figure  of  Mr.  Chester. 

"Same  thing  you  are,"  said  Quin,  grinning  sym- 
pathetically. "Only  if  I  was  in  your  shoes  I  'd  be 
walking  the  tracks  to  meet  the  train." 

Mr.  Chester  shook  his  head  and  smiled  primly. 

"When  you  have  waited  twenty  years  for  a 
young  lady,  twenty  minutes  more  or  less  do  not 
matter." 

"They  would  to  me!"  Quin  declared  emphatically. 
"When  is  the  wedding  to  be?" 

"On  the  fourteenth.  And  that  reminds  me" — Mr. 
Chester  ran  his  arm  confidentially  through  Quin'f 
and  tried  to  catch  step.  "I  want  to  ask  a  favor  of 
you." 

A  favor  to  Quin  meant  anything  from  twenty- 
five  cents  to  twenty-five  dollars,  and  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Chester  should  come  to  him  flattered  and 
embarrassed  him  at  the  same  time. 


QUIN  231 

"What 's  mine  is  yours,"  he  said  magnanimously. 

"No,  you  don't  understand/'  said  Mr.  Chester. 
"You  see,  not  being  a  club  man  or  a  society  man, 
I  have  in  a  way  dropped  out  of  things.  I  have 
comparatively  few  friends,  and  unfortunately  they 
are  not  in  a  set  personally  known  to  Madam 
Bartlett.  Miss  Enid  and  I  thought  that  it  might 
solve  the  difficulty,  and  avoid  complications,  if  you 
would  agree  to  serve  as  my  best  man." 

"Why,  I  'd  be  willing  to  serve  as  the  preacher  to 
see  you  and  Miss  Enid  get  married,"  said  Quin 
heartily.  Then  his  thoughts  flew  after  his  departed 
Tuxedo  and  the  gorgeous  wing-toed  pumps. 
"What '11  I  have  to  wear?" 

"It  is  to  be  a  noon  affair,"  reassured  Mr.  Chester. 
"Simple  morning  coat,  you  know,  and  light-gray 
tie." 

Quin's  ideas  concerning  a  morning  coat  were 
extremely  vague,  and  the  possibility  of  his  procur- 
ing one  vaguer  still;  but  the  occasion  was  too  por- 
tentous to  admit  of  hesitation.  He  and  Mr.  Chester 
continued  their  walk  to  the  far  end  of  the  shed,  and 
then  stood  looking  down  at  the  coal  cars  being 
loaded  from  the  yards. 

"White  gloves,  I  suppose?"  observed  Quin. 

"Pearl  gray,  with  very  narrow  stitching.  I  think 
that's  better  taste,  don't  you?" 

"Sure,"  agreed  Quin.  "Flower  in  the  buttonhole, 
or  anything  like  that?" 


QUIN 

While  this  all-important  detail  was  being  decided, 
a  clanging  bell  and  the  hiss  of  an  engine  announced 
the  incoming  train.  Before  the  two  waiting  cavaliers 
could  reach  the  gate,  Eleanor  Bartlett  came  through, 
laden  with  wraps  and  umbrellas. 

"I  like  the  way  you  meet  us,"  she  called  out,. 
"For  mercy  sake,  help  me."  And  she  deposited  her 
burden  in  Quin's  outstretched  arms.  Then,  as  Mr, 
Chester  strode  past  them  with  flying  coat-tails  in 
quest  of  Miss  Enid,  she  burst  out  laughing. 

"Say,  you  are  looking  great,"  said  Quin,  with 
devouring  eyes,  as  he  surveyed  her  over  the  top  of 
his  impedimenta. 

"It 's  more  than  you  are."  She  scanned  his  face 
in  dismay.  "Have  you  been  sick?" 

"No,  indeed.    Never  felt  better." 

"I  know — it  was  nursing  Cass  that  did  it.  Rose 
wrote  me  all  about  it.  If  you  don't  look  better 
right  away,  I  shall  make  you  go  straight  to  bed 
and  I  '11  come  feed  you  chicken  soup." 

"My  fever's  rising  this  minute!"  cried  Quin, 
"I  believe  I've  got  a  chill.  Send  for  the  ambulance !" 

"Not  till  after  the  wedding.  I  '11  have  you  know 
I  am  to  be  Aunt  Enid's  bridesmaid." 

"You  Ve  got  nothing  on  me,"  said  Quin,  "I  'm 
the  best  man!" 

This  struck  them  both  as  being  so  excruciatingly 
funny  that  they  did  not  see  the  approaching  caval- 


QUIN  233 

cade,  with  Madam  walking  slowly  at  its  head,  until 
Quin  heard  his  name  called. 

"Oh,  dear,"  said  Eleanor,  "there  they  come.  And 
I  've  got  a  thousand  questions  to  ask  you  and  a 
million  things  to  tell  you." 

"Come  here,  young  man,  and  see  me  walk!"  was 
Madam's  greeting.  "Do  I  look  like  a  cripple  ?  Leg 
off  at  the  knee,  crutches  for  life  ?  Bah !  We  fooled 
them,  didn't  we?" 

Quin  made  a  tremendous  fuss  over  the  old  lady. 
He  also  threw  the  aunties  into  pleased  confusion  by 
pretending  that  he  was  going  to  kiss  them,  and  oc- 
casioned no  end  of  laughter  and  good-natured 
banter  by  his  incessant  teasing  of  Mr.  Chester.  He 
was  in  that  state  of  effervescence  that  demanded  an 
immediate  outlet. 

Madam  found  him  so  amusing  that  she  promptly 
detailed  him  as  her  special  escort. 

"Eleanor  can  look  after  the  baggage,"  she  said, 
"and  Isobel  can  look  after  Eleanor.  The  turtle- 
doves can  take  a  taxi."  And  she  closed  her  strong 
old  fingers  around  Quin's  wrist  and  pulled  him 
forward. 

He  shot  an  appealing  glance  over  his  shoulder 
at  Eleanor,  who  shook  her  head  in  exasperation; 
then  he  obediently  conducted  Madam  to  her  carriage 
and  scrambled  in  beside  her. 

"Now,"  she  said,  when  he  had  got  a  cushion  at 


234  QUIN 

her  back  and  a  stool  under  her  foot,  "tell  me: 
there's  Ranny — drunk  as  usual?" 

"No,  siree!"  said  Quin  proudly.  "Sober  as 
usual.  He  has  n't  touched  a  drop  since  you  went 
away." 

She  looked  at  him  incredulously., 

"Are  you  lying?" 

"I  am  not." 

Her  hard,  suspicious  old  face  began  to  twitch  and 
her  eyelids  reddened. 

"This  is  your  doing,"  she  said  gruffly.  "You  Ve 
put  more  backbone  into  him  than  all  the  doctors 
together." 

"That 's  not  all  I  Ve  done,"  said  Quin,  "What 
are  you  going  to  say  when  I  tell  you  I  Ve  sold  him 
a  farm?" 

"A  farm  ?  You  Ve  got  no  farm ;  and  he  had  no 
money  to  buy  it,  if  you  had." 

"That 's  all  right.  He  has  had  a  farm  for  three 
months.  You  ought  to  see  him — up  at  six  o'clock 
every  morning  looking  after  things,  and  so  keen 
about  getting  back  to  it  in  the  evening  that  he  never 
thinks  about  going  to  the  club  or  staying  in  town." 

"What's  all  this  nonsense  you  are  talking?" 

"It 's  not  nonsense.  He  's  bought  a  little  place 
out  near  Anchordale.  They  are  living  there." 

"And  they  did  this  without  consulting  me!" 
Madam's  eyes  blazed.  "Why,  he  is  no  more  capable 
of  running  a  farm  than  a  ten-year-old  child!  I 


QUIN  235 

have  fought  it  for  years.  He  knew  perfectly  well 
if  he  told  me  I  'd  stop  it  instantly.  He  will  appeal 
to  me  to  help  out  within  six  months,  you  '11  see !  I 
sha'n't  do  it !  I  '11  show  my  children  if  they  can  do 
without  me  that  I  can  go  without  them." 

She  was  working  herself  into  a  fine  rage.  The 
aigrette  on  her  bonnet  quivered,  and  the  black  velvet 
band  about  her  neck  was  getting  so  tight  that  it 
looked  as  if  it  could  n't  stand  the  strain  much  longer. 

"Why  didn't  he  write  me?"  she  stormed.  "Am 
I  too  old  and  decrepit  to  be  consulted  any  more? 
Is  he  going  to  follow  Enid's  high-handed  way  of 
deciding  things  without  the  slightest  reference  to 
my  wishes?" 

"I  expect  he  is,"  said  Quin  cheerfully.  "You  see, 
you  can't  stiffen  a  fellow's  backbone,  as  you  call  it, 
for  one  thing  and  not  another.  When  he  found 
out  he  could  stop  drinking,  he  decided  he  could  do 
other  things  as  well.  He  's  started  a  chicken  farm." 

Madam  groaned:  "Of  course.  I  never  knew  a 
fool  that  sooner  or  later  didn't  gravitate  to  chickens. 
He  will  get  an  incubator  next." 

"He  has  two  already.  He  and  Mrs.  Ranny  are 
studying  out  the  whole  business  scientifically." 

"And  I  suppose  they  've  got  a  rabbit  hutch,  and 
a  monkey,  and  some  white  mice?" 

"Not  quite.  But  they  've  got  a  nice  place.  Want 
to  go  out  with  me  next  Saturday  and  see  'em?" 


236  QUIN 

"I  do  not.  I  'm  not  interested  in  menageries.  I 
never  expect  to  cross  the  threshold." 

Quin  pulled  up  the  cape  that  had  slipped  from  her 
shoulder,  and  adjusted  it  carefully. 

"When  Mr.  Ranny  comes  in  to  see  you,"  he 
said,  "I  hope  you  won't  ball  him  out  right  away. 
He  's  awful  keen  on  this  stunt,  you  know.  It  sort 
of  takes  the  place  of  the  things  he  has  given  up." 

Madam  glared  straight  ahead  of  her  for  a  few 
moments,  then  she  said  curtly: 

"I  '11  not  mention  it  until  he  does." 

"Oh,  but  I  want  you  to.  He  's  as  nervous  as  a 
witch  about  how  you  are  going  to  take  it.  You 
see,  he  thinks  more  of  your  opinion  than  he  does 
of  anybody's,  and  he  wants  your  approval.  If  you 
could  jump  right  in  and  say  you  think  it 's  a  bully 
idea,  and  that  you  are  coming  out  to  see  what  he  has 
done,  and " 

"Do  you  want  me  to  lie?"  Madam  demanded 
fiercely. 

"No,"  said  Quin,  laughing;  "I  am  trying  to  warm 
you  up  to  the  project  now,  so  you  won't  have  to 
lie."  Then,  seeing  her  face  relax  a  little,  he  leaned 
toward  her  and  said  in  his  most  persuasive  tone : 

"See  here,  now !  I  did  my  best  to  straighten  Mr. 
Ranny  out.  He  's  making  the  fight  of  his  life  to 
keep  straight.  It 's  up  to  you  to  stand  by  us.  You 
don't  want  to  pitch  the  fat  back  in  the  fire,  do  you?" 

They  had  reached  the  big  house  on  Third  Avenue, 


QUIN  237 

and  the  carriage  was  slowing  up  at  the  curbing. 
Quin,  receiving  no  answer  to  his  question,  carefully 
helped  Madam  up  the  steps  and  into  the  house,  where 
black  Hannah  was  waiting  to  receive  her. 

"You  can't  come  in,"  said  Madam  gruffly.  "I 
am  tired.  I  will  see  you  some  other  time." 

"All  right,"  said  Quin.  "What  time  shall  I  come 
Saturday  afternoon?" 

"Saturday  afternoon?     Why  then?" 

"To  go  out  to  Mr.  Ranny's  farm." 

For  an  instant  they  measured  glances ;  then  Quin 
began  to  laugh — a  confident,  boyish  laugh  full  of 
teasing  affection. 

"Come  on,"  he  coaxed,  "be  a  good  scout.  Let 's 
give  'em  the  surprise  of  their  lives." 

"You  rascal,  you!"  she  said,  hitting  at  him  with 
her  cane.  "I  believe  you  are  at  the  bottom  of  all 
this.  Mind,  I  promise  you  nothing." 

"You  don't  have  to,"  he  called  back.  "I  can 
trust  you.  I  '11  be  here  at  three !" 

He  arrived  on  Saturday  an  hour  early  in  the  hope 
of  seeing  Eleanor,  and  was  gloriously  rewarded  by 
thirty  minutes  alone  with  her  in  the  big  dark  draw- 
ing-room. All  the  way  up  from  the  factory  he  had 
thought  of  the  things  he  wanted  to  tell  her — all 
the  Martel  news,  the  progress  of  affairs  at  Valley 
Mead,  the  fact  that  he  had  won  his  first-term  certifi- 
cate at  the  university,  and  above  all  about  his  pro- 
motion at  Bartlett  &  Bangs.  But  Eleanor  gave  him 


238  QUIN 

no  chance  to  tell  her  anything.  She  was  like  a 
dammed-up  stream  that  suddenly  finds  an  outlet. 
Into  Quin's  sympathetic  ears  she  poured  her  own 
troubles,  talking  with  her  hands  and  her  eyes  as 
well  as  her  lips,  exaggerating,  dramatizing,  laugh- 
ing one  minute,  half  crying  the  next. 

The  summer,  it  seemed,  had  been  one  long  series 
of  clashes  with  her  grandmother.  She  hadn't  en- 
joyed one  day  of  it,  she  assured  him;  that  is,  not  a 
whole  day,  for  of  course  there  were  some  gorgeous 
times  in  between.  Her  friends  had  not  been  wel- 
come at  the  house,  and  one  (whom  Quin  devoutly 
hoped  was  Mr.  Phipps)  had  been  openly  insulted. 
She  had  not  been  allowed  to  take  part  in  the  play 
given  at  the  club-house,  when  it  had  been  planned 
with  her  especially  in  mind  for  the  leading  role. 
She  had  even  been  forbidden  to  go  to  the  last  boat- 
house  dance,  because  it  was  a  moonlight  affair,  and 
grandmother  had  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  as 
dancing  without  lights. 

"She  has  spent  the  entire  summer  nagging  at  me," 
Eleanor  concluded.  "I  could  n't  do  a  thing  to  please 
her.  If  I  stayed  in  she  wanted  me  to  go  out;  if 
I  went  out  she  thought  I  ought  to  stay  in.  If  I 
put  on  one  dress  she  invariably  made  me  change  it 
for  another.  And  as  for  being  late  to  meals,  why, 
each  time  it  happened  you  would  have  thought  I  'd 
broken  the  ten  commandments." 

"Could  n't  you  have  pushed  up  the  stroke  and  got 


QUIN  239 

there  on  time?"  asked  Quin,  whose  army  training- 
made  him  inclined  to  sympathize  with  Madam  at  this 
point. 

"No,  I  could  not.  I  am  always  late.  It 's  a 
Martel  trait — that 's  why  it  infuriates  grandmother. 
But  it  was  n't  any  of  these  things  I  Ve  been  telling 
you  that  caused  the  real  trouble.  It  was  her  constant 
interference  in  my  private  affairs.  I  am  simply 
sick  of  being  dictated  to  about  my  choice  of 
friends." 

"You  mean  Mr.  Phipps?" 

She  looked  at  him  quickly.  "How  did  you  know?" 

"Mrs.  Ranny  told  me  he  was  up  there,  and  I 
guessed  there  was  a  shindy." 

"I  should  say  there  was — for  the  entire  three 
days  he  was  there!  If  he  hadn't  been  big  enough 
to  rise  above  it  and  ignore  grandmother,  she  would 
have  succeeded  in  breaking  up  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  friendships  of  my  life." 

Quin  absently  twisted  a  corner  of  the  corpulent 
sofa  cushion  which  he  held  in  his  lap,  before  he 
asked  cautiously: 

"What  is  it  you  like  so  much  in  him,  Miss  Nell?" 

Eleanor  curled  her  feet  under  her  on  the  sofa, 
and  launched  forth  on  a  favorite  theme: 

"Well,  to  begin  with,  he  's  the  most  cosmopolitan 
man  I  ever  met." 

"Cosmopolitan  ?    How  do  you  mean  ?" 


240  QUIN 

"Awfully  sophisticated.  A  sort  of  citizen  of  the 
world,  you  know." 

"You  mean  he  's  traveled  a  lot,  knocked  around 
in  queer  places,  like  me?" 

"Oh,  no ;  it  is  n't  that.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
has  never  been  out  of  this  country.  But  I  mean 
that,  wherever  he  'd  go,  he  would  be  at  home." 

"Yes,"  Quin  admitted,  with  a  grim  smile ;  "that's 
where  he  was  most  of  the  time  when  he  was  in  the 
army.  What  else  do  you  like  about  him?" 

"I  sha'n't  tell  you.  You  are  prejudiced,  like  all 
the  rest.  He  says  that  only  an  artist  can  under- 
stand an  artist." 

"Meaning,  I  suppose,  that  he  understands  you?" 

"Yes;  and  I  believe  I  understand  him.  Of  course 
I  don't  agree  with  him  in  all  his  ideas.  But  then, 
I  Ve  been  brought  up  in  such  a  narrow  way  that  I 
know  I  am  frightfully  conventional.  He  is  awfully 
advanced,  you  know.  Why  don't  you  like  him, 
Quin?" 

Numerous  concrete  and  very  emphatic  reasons 
sprang  to  Quin's  lips.  He  would  have  liked  nothing 
better  than  to  answer  her  question  fully  and  finally ; 
but  instead  he  only  smiled  at  her  and  said : 

"Why,  I  guess  the  main  reason  is  because  you  do." 

Eleanor  looked  at  him  dubiously:  "No,"  she 
said ;  "it 's  something  besides  that.  The  family 
have  probably  filled  your  ears  with  silly  gossip.  Mr. 
Phipps  was  wild  at  one  time — he  told  me  all  about 


QUIN  241 

it.  But  that 's  ancient  history ;  you  can  take  my 
word  for  it." 

Quin  would  have  taken  her  word  for  almost  any- 
thing when  she  looked  at  him  with  such  star-eyed 
earnestness,  but  he  was  obliged  to  make  an  excep- 
tion in  the  present  instance. 

"He 's  nothing  in  my  young  life,"  he  said  in- 
differently. "What  I  want  to  know  is  whether 
you  are  home  to  stay?" 

Eleanor  glanced  at  the  door,  listened,  then  she 
said: 

"I  don't  know  yet.  You  see,  Papa  Claude 
is  to  be  in  New  York  this  winter,  finishing 
his  play.  He  says  if  I  will  come  on  he  will 
put  me  in  the  Kendall  School  of  Expression 
and  see  that  I  get  the  right  start.  It 's  the  chance 
of  a  life-time,  and  I  'm  simply  wild  to  go." 

"And  Queen  Vic  won't  hear  of  it?" 

"Not  for  a  second.  She  knows  perfectly  well 
that  I  can  go  on  the  stage  the  day  I  am  twenty-one, 
yet  through  sheer  obstinacy  she  refuses  to  advance 
me  a  penny  to  do  as  I  like  with  before  the  2Oth  of 
next  July." 

"She  don't  do  it  for  meanness,"  Quin  ventured. 
"She  'd  give  you  all  she  had  if  it  came  to  a  show- 
down. But  none  of  'em  realize  you  are  grown  up; 
they  are  afraid  to  turn  you  loose." 

"Well,  I  've  stood  it  as  long  as  I  intend  to.     I 


242  QUIN 

made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  stick  it  out  until 
after  Aunt  Enid's  wedding.  It  nearly  breaks  my 
heart  to  do  anything  to  hurt  her  and  Aunt  Isobel; 
but  even  they  are  beginning  to  rebel  against  grand- 
mother's tyranny." 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?"  asked  Quin,  with  a 
sudden  sinking  of  the  heart. 

"I  am  not  sure  yet ;  I  have  n't  quite  made  up  my 
mind.  But  I  am  not  going  to  stay  here.  I  am  too 

unhappy,  Quin,  and  with  Aunt  Enid  gone " 

Her  voice  broke,  and  as  she  caught  her  lip  between 
her  small  white  teeth  she  stared  ahead  of  her  with 
tragic  eyes. 

Quin  laid  his  arm  along  the  sofa,  as  close  to  her 
shoulders  as  he  dared,  and  looked  at  her  in  dumb 
sympathy. 

"Don't  you  think  you  might  try  a  different  tack 
with  the  old  lady?"  he  ventured  presently.  "Even 
a  porcupine  likes  to  have  its  head  scratched,  and  I 
think  sometimes  she  's  kind  of  hungry  for  somebody 
to  cotton  up  to  her  a  bit.  Don't  you  think  you 
might " 

"Who  left  that  front  door  open?"  broke  in  a 
harsh,  peremptory  voice  from  the  landing,  "I  don't 
care  who  opened  it — I  want  it  shut,  and  kept  shut. 
Where  's  Quinby  Graham  ?  I  thought  you  said  he 
was  waiting." 

Quin  rose  precipitately  and  made  a  dash  for  the 


QUIN  243 

hall,  while  Eleanor  discreetly  disappeared  through  a 
rear  door. 

"Well,"  said  Madam  grimly,  pulling  on  her  gloves, 
"it  is  a  novel  experience  to  find  a  young  person  who 
has  a  respect  for  other  people's  time." 


CHAPTER  21 

ITVDR  the  next  two  weeks  Eleanor  made  a  heroic 
JL  effort  to  follow  Quin's  advice  and  be  nice  to 
Madam.  She  wanted,  with  all  her  heart,  to  gain  her 
point  peacefully,  and  she  also  wanted  Quin's  ap- 
proval of  what  she  was  doing.  In  spite  of  his  obvi- 
ous adoration,  she  frequently  detected  a  note  of 
criticism  in  his  voice,  that,  while  it  piqued  her,  also 
stirred  her  conscience  and  made  her  see  things  in  a 
new  and  disturbing  light.  For  the  first  time,  she  be- 
gan to  wonder  if  she  could  be  partly  to  blame  for  the 
friction  that  always  existed  between  herself  and  her 
grandmother.  She  certainly  had  taken  an  unholy 
joy  in  flaunting  her  Martel  characteristics  in  the  old 
lady's  face.  It  was  not  that  she  preferred  to  identify 
herself  with  her  mother's  family  rather  than  with 
her  father's.  The  Martel  shiftlessness  and  visionary 
improvidence  were  quite  as  intolerable  to  her  as  the 
iron-clad  conventions  of  the  Bartletts.  She  could 
take  correction  from  Aunt  Isobel  and  Aunt  Enid, 
but  there  was  something  in  her  grandmother's 
caustic  comments  that  made  her  tingle  with  instant 
opposition,  as  a  delicate  vase  will  shiver  at  the  sound 
of  its  own  vibration. 

244 


QUIN  245 

During  the  days  before  the  wedding  she  surprised 
herself  by  her  docility  and  acquiescence  in  all  that 
was  proposed  for  her.  She  even  accepted  without 
demur  the  white  swiss  and  blue  ribbons  that  a  week 
before  she  had  considered  entirely  too  infantile  for 
an  adult  maid  of  honor.  This  particular  exhibition 
of  virtue  was  due  to  the  exemplary  behavior  of  the 
bride  herself.  Miss  Enid  had  longed  for  the  regula- 
tion white  satin,  tulle  veil,  and  orange  blossoms ;  but 
Madam  had  promptly  cited  the  case  of  the  old  maid 
who  waited  so  long  to  marry  that  her  orange 
blossoms  turned  to  oranges. 

Miss  Enid  was  married  in  a  sober  traveling  dress, 
and  carried  a  prayer-book.  She  and  Mr.  Chester 
stood  in  front  of  the  drawing-room  mantel,  where 
twenty  years  before  Madam  had  expressed  her 
opinion  concerning  sentimental  young  fools  who 
thought  they  could  live  on  fifteen  dollars  a  week. 

The  budding  romance,  snatched  ruthlessly  up  and 
flung  into  the  dust-heap  of  common  sense,  had  lain 
dormant  all  these  years,  until  Quinby  Graham  had 
stumbled  upon  its  dried  old  roots,  and  planted  them 
once  again  in  the  garden  of  dreams. 

Why  is  it  that  we  will  breathlessly  follow  the 
callowest  youth  and  the  silliest  maiden  through  the 
most  intricate  labyrinth  of  love,  never  losing  interest 
until  they  drop  safely  into  one  another's  arms,  and 
yet  when  two  seasoned,  mellowed  human  beings 
tried  by  life  and  found  worthy  of  the  prize  of  love, 


246  QUIN 

dare  lift  a  sentimental  lid  or  sigh  a  word  of 
romance,  we  straightway  howl  with  derision? 

It  was  not  until  Eleanor  stood  beside  the  elderly 
bride  that  the  affair  ceased  to  be  funny  to  her.  For 
the  first  time,  she  saw  something  pathetic  and  beauti- 
ful in  the  permanence  of  a  love  that,  starved  and 
thwarted  and  blasted  by  ridicule,  could  survive  the 
years  and  make  two  faded,  middle-aged  people  like 
Aunt  Enid  and  Mr.  Chester  eager  to  drain  the  dregs 
of  life  together,  when  they  had  been  denied  the 
good  red  wine. 

Her  eyes  wandered  from  their  worn,  elated  faces 
to  the  rows  of  solemn  figures  behind  them.  Madam, 
as  usual,  dominated  the  scene.  Her  portrait  gazed 
in  portentously  from  the  hall;  her  marble  bust 
gleamed  from  a  distant  corner;  and  she  herself,  the 
most  resplendent  person  present,  sat  in  a  chair  of 
state  placed  like  a  proscenium-box,  and  critically 
observed  the  performance. 

"If  she  only  wouldn't  curl  her  lip  like  that!" 
thought  Eleanor  shudderingly ;  then  she  remembered 
her  resolution  and  looked  at  Quin. 

He  too  was  looking  preternaturally  solemn,  and 
his  lips  were  moving  softly  in  unison  with  Mr. 
Chester's.  If  Eleanor  could  have  heard  those  in- 
audible responses  she  would  have  been  startled  by 
the  words:  "I,  Quinby,  take  thee,  Eleanor."  But 
she  only  observed  that  he  was  lost  in  a  day-dream, 
and  that  she  had  never  seen  him  look  so  nice. 


QUIN  247 

Indeed,  he  was  a  very  different-looking  person 
from  the  boy  that  six  months  ago  had  mortified  her 
by  his  appearance  at  her  Easter  party  in  "the  classiest 
coat  in  the  market."  The  propriety  of  his  garments 
made  her  suspect  that  Uncle  Ranny  had  had  a  hand 
in  their  selection. 

"And  I  like  the  way  he  's  got  his  hair  slicked 
back,"  she  thought.  "I  wonder  how  he  ever  managed 
it?" 

After  the  wedding  breakfast,  which  was  a  lavish 
one,  and  the  departure  of  the  bride  and  groom,  for 
California,  where  they  were  to  make  their  future 
home,  Madam  summoned  Eleanor. 

"There  's  no  use  in  you  and  Quin  Graham  staying 
here  with  all  these  fossils, v  she  said,  lowering  her 
voice.  "People  hate  to  go  home  from  a  wedding 
almost  as  much  as  they  do  from  a  funeral!  You 
two  take  this  and  go  to  a  matinee." 

This  unexpected  concession  to  Eleanor's  weakness 
touched  her  deeply.  She  flew  into  the  hall  to  tell 
Quin,  and  then  rushed  upstairs  to  change  her  dress. 

"I  believe  the  scheme  is  working!"  she  said  joy- 
ously, as  she  and  Quin  sat  in  the  theater  waiting  for 
the  curtain  to  rise.  "Grandmother  has  been  peaches 
and  cream  to  me  all  week.  This  morning  she  capped 
the  climax  by  giving  me  a  check  for  a  hundred 
dollars  to  buy  a  gold  mesh  bag." 

"A  what!"  cried  Quin,  aghast. 

"A  mesh  bag.    But  I  am  not  going  to  get  it.    I 


248  QUIN 

sent  the  check  to  Rose.  It  has  nearly  killed  me  not 
to  have  a  penny  to  send  them  all  summer,  and  this 
came  just  in  time.  Have  you  heard  about  Myrna?" 

"Being  asked  to  spend  the  winter  at  Mrs. 
Ranny's  ?  I  should  say  I  have !  She  's  the  happiest 
kid  alive." 

"And  grandmother  has  even  stood  for  that !  It 's 
a  perfect  scream  to  hear  her  bragging  about  'my 
son's  farm.'  She  will  be  talking  about  'my 
daughter's  husband'  next." 

"Queen  Vic  's  all  right,"  Quin  declared  stoutly. 
"Her  only  trouble  is  that  she  's  been  trying  to  play 
baseball  by  herself;  she's  got  to  learn  team-work." 

The  play  happened  to  be  "The  Better  'Ole" ;  and 
from  the  moment  the  curtain  rose  Eleanor  was 
oblivious  to  everything  but  the  humor  and  pathos 
and  glory  of  the  story.  She  followed  with  ready 
tears  and  smiles  the  adventures  of  the  three  Tom- 
mies; she  thrilled  to  the  sentimental  songs  beside 
the  stage  camp  fire;  she  laughed  at  the  antics  of 
the  incomparable  Corporal  Bill.  It  was  not  until 
the  second  act  that  she  became  conscious  of  the 
queer  behavior  of  her  companion. 

Quin  sat  hunched  up  in  his  wedding  suit,  his  jaw 
set  like  a  vise,  staring  solemnly  into  space  with  an 
expression  she  had  never  seen  in  his  face  before. 
He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  where  he  was  and 
whom  he  was  with.  His  hand  had  crushed  the 
program  into  a  ball,  and  his  breath  came  short,  as 


QUIN  249 

it  always  did  when  he  was  excited  or  over-exerted. 

Eleanor,  whose  emotions  up  to  now  had  been 
pleasantly  and  superficially  stirred,  suddenly  saw  the 
play  from  a  new  angle.  With  quick  imagination  she 
visualized  the  great  reality  of  which  all  this  was 
but  a  clever  sham.  She  saw  Quin  passing  through 
it  all,  not  to  the  thunder  of  stage  shrapnel  and  the 
glare  of  a  red  spot-light,  but  in  the  life-and-death 
struggle  of  those  eighteen  months  in  the  trenches. 
Before  she  knew  it,  she  too  was  gazing  absently  into 
space,  shaken  with  the  profound  realization  that 
here  beside  her,  his  shoulder  touching  hers,  was  one 
who  had  lived  more  in  a  day  than  she  had  ever  lived 
in  a  life-time. 

They  said  little  during  the  last  intermission,  and 
the  silence  brought  them  closer  together  than  any 
words  could  have  done. 

"It  takes  a  fellow  back — all  this,"  Quin  roused 
himself  to  say  in  half-apology. 

"I  know,"  said  Eleanor. 

They  walked  home  in  the  autumn  twilight  in  that 
exalted,  romantic  mood  in  which  a  good  play  leaves 
one.  Now  that  the  tension  was  over,  it  was  quite 
possible  to  prolong  the  enjoyment  by  discussing  the 
strong  and  weak  points  of  the  performance.  Eleanor 
was  surprised  to  find  that  Quin,  while  ignorant  of 
the  meaning  of  the  word  technic  nevertheless  had 
decided  and  worth-while  opinions  about  every  detail, 


250  QUIN 

and  that  his  comments  were  often  startlingly  per- 
tinent. 

They  reached  the  Bartletts'  before  they  knew  it, 
and  Quin  sighed  ruefully: 

"I  wish  Miss  Enid  and  Mr.  Chester  could  get 
married  every  Wednesday!  When  can  I  see  you 
again?" 

"Some  time  soon." 

"To-morrow  night?" 

"I  am  afraid  that 's  too  soon." 

"Friday?" 

"No;  I  am  going  to  a  dance  at  the  Country  Club 
Friday  night." 

Still  he  lingered  disconsolately  on  the  lower  ste.p, 
unable  to  tear  himself  away. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  gaining  time  by  pre- 
senting a  grievance,  "you  never  have  danced  with 
me  but  twice  in  your  life?" 

She  looked  at  him  dreamily. 

"The  funny  thing  is  that  I  remember  those  two 
dances  better  than  any  I  've  ever  had  with  anybody 
else." 

He  came  up  the  steps  two  at  a  time. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  he  demanded.  "Are 
you  joshing  me?" 

"No,  honest.  That  New  Year's  eve  with  the 
blizzard  raging  outside,  and  that  bright  crowded 
hall,  and  all  you  boys  just  home  from  France.  Do 
you  remember  the  big  blue  parrots  that  swung  in 


QUIN  251 

hoops  from  the  chandeliers?  And  that  wonderful 
saxophone  and  the  big  bass  drum !" 

"Then  it  isn't  me  that  you  remember?  Just  a 
darned  old  parrot  hanging  on  a  hoop,  and  a  saxo- 
phone and  a  drum!" 

"You  silly !  Of  course  it 's  you  too !  I  remember 
every  single  thing  you  told  me,  and  how  terribly 
thrilled  I  was.  This  afternoon  brought  it  all  back. 
I  shall  never  forget  this,  either.  Not  as  long  as 
Hive!" 

She  started  to  put  out  her  hand;  but,  seeing  the 
look  in  Quin's  eyes,  she  reconsidered  and  opened  the 
door  instead. 

"So  long,"  she  said  casually.  "I  '11  probably  see 
you  sometime  next  week.  In  the  meanwhile  I  '11  be 
good  to  granny !" 


CHAPTER  22 

WHEN  Eleanor  reached  the  Country  Club  on 
Friday  night,  she  found  a  box  of  flowers 
waiting  for  her  in  the  dressing-room.  It  was  the 
second  box  she  had  received  that  day.  The  first 
bore  the  conspicuous  label,  "Wear-Well  Shoes,"  and 
contained  a  bunch  of  wild  evening  primroses 
wrapped  in  wet  moss.  With  this  more  sophisticated 
floral  offering  was  a  sealed  note  which  she  opened 
eagerly : 

Mademoiselle  Beaux  Yeux — [she  read] : 

Save  %all  the  dances  after  the  intermission  for  me.  I 
will  reach  L.  at  nine-thirty,  get  out  to  the  club  for  a 
couple  of  hours  with  you,  and  catch  the  midnight  express 
back  to  Chicago.  Pin  my  blossoms  close  to  your  heart, 
and  bid  it  heed  what  they  whisper. 

H.  P. 

Eleanor  read  the  note  twice,  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  a  dozen  envious  eyes  were  watching  her.  She 
considered  this  quite  the  most  romantic  thing  that 
had  happened  to  her.  For  a  man  like  Mr.  Phipps  to 
travel  sixteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four  just  to 
dance  with  her  was  a  triumph  indeed.  It  made  her 
think  of  her  old  friend  Joseph,  in  the  Bret  Harte 
poem,  who 

252 


QUIN  253 

Swam  the  Elk's  creek  and  all  that, 

Just  to  dance  with  old  Folingsbee's  daughter, 

The  Lily  of  Poverty  Flat. 

Not  that  Eleanor  felt  in  the  least  humble.  She 
had  never  felt  so  proud  in  her  life  as  she  smiled  a 
little  superior  smile  and  slipped  the  note  in  her 
bosom. 

"Not  orchids !"  exclaimed  Kitty  Mason,  poking  an 
inquisitive  finger  under  the  waxed  paper. 

"Why  not?"  Eleanor  asked  nonchalantly.  "They 
are  my  favorite  flowers." 

"But  I  thought  the  orchid  king  was  in  Chicago?" 

"He  is — that  is,  he  was.  He  's  probably  on  the 
train  now.  I  have  just  had  a  note  saying  he  was 
running  down  for  the  dance  and  would  go  back 
to-night." 

The  news  had  the  desired  effect.  Six  noses,  which 
were  being  vigorously  powdered,  were  neglected 
while  their  owners  burst  forth  in  a  chorus  of  ex- 
clamations sufficiently  charged  with  envious  admira- 
tion to  satisfy  the  most  rapacious  debutante. 

"I  should  think  you  'd  be  perfectly  paralyzed  try- 
ing to  think  of  things  to  talk  to  him  about,"  said 
little  Bessie  Meed,  who  had  not  yet  put  her  hair  up. 
"Older  men  scare  me  stiff." 

"They  don't  me,"  declared  Lou  Pierce;  "they 
make  me  tired.  Sitting  out  dances,  and  holding 
hands,  and  talking  high-brow.  When  I  come  to  a 


254  QUIN 

dance  I  want  to  dance.  Give  me  Johnnie  Rawlings 
or  Pink  Bailey  and  a  good  old  jazz." 

Eleanor  pinned  on  her  orchids  and  moved  away. 
The  girls  seemed  incredibly  young  and  noisy  and 
crass.  Less  than  six  months  ago  she,  too,  was 
romping  through  the  dances  with  Jimmy  and  Pink, 
and  imagining  that  a  fox-trot  divided  between  ten 
partners  constituted  the  height  of  enjoyment.  Mr. 
Phipps  had  told  her  in  the  summer  that  she  was 
changing.  "The  little  butterfly  is  emerging  from 
her  chrysalis,"  was  the  poetic  way  he  had  phrased  it, 
with  an  accompanying  look  that  spoke  volumes. 

Once  on  the  dance  floor,  however,  she  forgot  her 
superior  mood  and  enjoyed  herself  inordinately  until 
supper-time.  Just  as  she  and  Pink  were  starting  for 
the  refreshment  room,  she  caught  sight  of  a  familiar 
graceful  figure,  standing  apart  from  the  crowd, 
watching  her  with  level,  penetrating  eyes. 

"Pink,  I  forgot!"  she  said  hastily;  "I  'm  engaged 
for  supper.  I  '11  see  you  later."  And  without 
further  apology  she  slipped  through  the  throng  and 
joined  Harold. 

"Let 's  get  out  of  this,"  he  said,  lightly  touching 
her  bare  arm  and  piloting  her  toward  the  porch. 

"But  don't  you  want  any  supper?"  asked  Eleanor, 
amazed. 

"Not  when  I  have  you,"  whispered  Harold. 

Eleanor  gave  a  regretful  glance  at  a  mammoth 
tray  of  sandwiches  being  passed,  then  allowed  her- 


QUIN  255 

self  to  be  drawn  out  through  the  French  window  into 
the  cool  darkness  of  the  wide  veranda. 

"Let 's  sit  in  that  car  down  by  the  first  tee," 
Harold  suggested.  "It 's  only  a  step." 

Eleanor  hesitated.  One  of  the  ten  social  com- 
mandments imposed  upon  her  was  that  she  was 
never  to  leave  the  porch  at  a  Country  Club  dance. 
That  the  porch  edge  should  be  regarded  as  the 
limit  of  propriety  had  always  seemed  to  her  the 
height  of  absurdity;  but  so  far  she  had  obeyed  the 
family  and  confined  her  flirtations  to  shadowy 
corners  and  dim  nooks  under  bending  palms. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  Harold  inquired  solicit- 
ously. "The  little  gold  slippers?" 

"No — I  don't  mind  the  slippers;  but,  you  see, 
I  'm  not  supposed  to  go  off  the  porch." 

"How  ridiculous !  Of  course  you  are  going  off 
the  porch.  I  have  only  one  hour  to  stay,  and  I  Ve 
something  very  important  to  tell  you." 

"But  why  can't  we  sit  here?"  she  insisted,  in- 
dicating an  unoccupied  bench. 

"Because  those  ubiquitous  youngsters  will  be 
clamoring  for  you  the  moment  the  music  begins. 
Have  n't  you  had  enough  noise  for  one  night  ? 
Perhaps  you  prefer  to  go  inside  and  be  pushed  about 
and  eat  messy  things  with  your  fingers?" 

"Now  you  are  horrid !"  Eleanor  pouted.  "I  only 
thought " 

"You  mean  you  didn't  think!"  corrected  Harold, 


256  QUIN 

putting  the  tip  of  his  finger  under  her  chin  and 
tilting  her  face  up  to  his.  "You  just  repeated  what 
you  'd  been  taught  to  say.  Use  your  brains,  Eleanor. 
What  possible  harm  can  there  be  in  our  quietly 
sitting  out  under  tue  light  of  the  stars,  instead  of 
on  this  crowded  piazza,  with  that  distracting  din 
going  on  inside?" 

"Of  course  there  isn't  really." 

"Well,  then,  come  on" ;  and  he  led  the  way  across 
the  strip  of  dewy  lawn  and  handed  her  into  the  car. 

Eleanor  experienced  a  delicious  sense  of  forbidden 
joy  as  she  sank  on  the  soft  cushions  and  looked  back 
at  the  brilliantly  lighted  club-house.  The  knowledge 
that  in  many  of  those  other  cars  parked  along  the 
roadway  other  couples  were  cozily  twosing,  and  that 
not  a  girl  among  them  but  would  have  changed 
places  with  her,  added  materially  to  her  enjoyment. 

It  was  not  that  Harold  Phipps  was  popular.  She 
had  to  admit  that  he  had  more  enemies  than  friends. 
But  rumors  of  his  wealth,  his  position,  and  his 
talent,  together  with  his  distinguished  appearance, 
had  made  him  the  most  sought  after  officer  stationed 
at  the  camp.  That  he  should  have  swooped  down 
from  his  eagle  flight  with  Uncle  Ranny's  sophisti- 
cated group  to  snatch  her  out  of  the  pool  of  youthful 
minnows  was  a  compliment  she  did  not  forget. 

"Well,"  he  said,  lazily  sinking  into  his  corner  of 
the  car  and  observing  her  with  satisfaction,  "have  n't 


QUIN  257 

you  something  pretty  to  say  to  me,  after  I  've  come 
all  these  miles  to  hear  it?" 

Eleanor  laughed  in  embarrassment.  It  was  much 
easier  to  say  pretty  things  in  letters  than  to  say  them 
face  to  face. 

"There  is  one  thing  that  I  always  have  to  say  to 
you,"  she  said,  "and  that 's  thank  you.  These 
orchids  are  perfectly  sweet,  and  the  candy  that  came 
yesterday " 

"Was  also  perfectly  sweet  ?  Come,  Eleanor,  let 's 
skip  the  formalities.  Were  you  or  were  you  not 
glad  to  see  me?" 

"Why,  of  course  I  was." 

"Well,  you  did  n't  look  it.  I  am  not  used  to 
having  girls  treat  me  as  casually  as  you  do.  How 
much  have  you  missed  me?" 

"Heaps.    How  's  the  play  coming  on?" 

"Marvelously !  We  've  worked  out  all  the  main 
difficulties,  and  I  signed  up  this  week  with  a  man- 
ager." 

"Not  really!    When  will  it  be  produced?" 

"Sometime  in  the  spring.  I  go  on  to  New  York 
next  month  to  make  the  final  arrangements.  When 
do  you  go?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  am  going.  I  'm  trying  my 
best  to  get  grandmother's  consent." 

"You  must  go  anyhow,"  said  Harold.  "I  want 
you  to  have  three  months  at  the  Kendall  School, 
and  then  do  you  know  what  I  am  going  to  do?" 


258  QUIN 

"What?"  she  asked  with  sparkling  eagerness. 

"I  am  going  to  try  you  out  in  'Phantom  Love/ 
You  remember  you  said  if  I  wrote  a  part  especially 
for  you  that  nothing  in  heaven  or  earth  could  prevent 
your  taking  it." 

"And  have  you  written  a  part  especially  for  me  ?" 

"I  certainly  have.  A  young  Southern  girl  who 
moves  through  the  play  like  a  strain  of  exquisite 
music.  The  only  trouble  is  that  the  role  promises 
to  be  more  appealing  than  the  star's." 

"That 's  the  loveliest  thing  I  ever  heard  of  any- 
body doing!"  cried  Eleanor,  breathless  with  grati- 
tude. "Does  Papa  Claude  know?" 

"Of  course  he  knows.  We  worked  it  out  to- 
gether. I  am  going  to  find  him  a  small  apartment, 
so  he  can  be  ready  for  you  when  you  come.  It 
should  n't  be  later  than  November  the  first." 

Eleanor  wore  such  a  look  as  Joan  of  Arc  must 
have  worn  when  she  first  heard  the  heavenly  voices. 
Her  shapely  bare  arms  hung  limp  at  her  sides,  and 
her  white  face,  with  its  contrasting  black  hair,  shone 
like  a  delicate  cameo  against  the  darkness. 

Harold,  leaning  forward  with  elbows  on  his  knees, 
kept  lightly  touching  and  retouching  his  mustache. 

"In  the  first  act,"  he  continued  softly,  "I  Ve  put 
you  in  the  Red  Cross  Uniform — the  little  blue  and 
white  one,  you  know,  that  you  used  to  break  hearts 
in  out  at  the  camp  hospital.  In  the  second  act  you 
are  to  be  in  riding  togs,  smart  in  every  detail,  some- 


QUIN  259 

thing  very  chic,  that  will  show  your  figure  to  advan- 
tage; in  the  last  act  I  want  you  exactly  as  you  are 
this  minute — this  soft  clingy  gold  gown,  and  the 
gold  slippers,  and  your  hair  high  and  plain  like  that, 
with  the  band  of  dull  gold  around  it.  I  wouldn't 
change  an  inch  of  you,  not  from  your  head  to  your 
blessed  little  feet!" 

As  he  talked  Eleanor  forgot  him  completely.  She 
was  busy  visualizing  the  different  costumes,  even 
going  so  far  as  to  see  herself  slipping  through  folds 
of  crimson  velvet  to  take  insistent  curtain  calls. 
Already  in  imagination  she  was  rich  and  famous, 
dispensing  munificent  bounty  to  the  entire  Martel 
family.  Then  a  disturbing  thought  pricked  her 
dream  and  brought  her  rudely  back  to  the  present. 
As  long  as  her  grandmother  regarded  her  going  to 
New  York  as  a  foolish  whim,  a  passing  craze,  she 
might  be  wheedled  into  yielding;  but  at  the  first 
suggestion  of  a  professional  engagement,  her  oppo- 
sition would  become  active  and  violent.  Eleanor 
sighed  helplessly  and  looked  at  Harold. 

"What  shall  I  do  if  grandmother  refuses  to  send 
me?"  she  asked  desperately. 

"You  can  let  me  send  you,"  he  said  quietly.  "It 's 
folly  to  keep  up  this  pretense  any  longer,  Eleanor. 
.You  love  me,  don't  you?" 

"I — I  like  you,"  faltered  Eleanor,  "better  than 
almost  anybody.  But  I  am  never  going  to  marry; 


2<5o  QUIN 

I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  care  for  anybody — that 
way." 

He  watched  her  with  an  amused  practised  glance. 
"We  won't  talk  about  it  now,"  he  said  lightly.  "We 
will  talk  instead  of  your  career.  You  remember 
that  night  at  Ran's  when  you  recited  for  me?  I 
can  hear  you  now  saying  those  lines : 

'Or  if  thou  think'st  I  am  too  quickly  won 
I  '11  frown  and  be  perverse,  and  say  thee  nay.' 

For  days  I  was  haunted  by  the  beauty  and  subtlety 
of  your  voice,  the  unconscious  grace  of  your  poses, 
your  little  tricks  of  coquetry,  and  the  play  of  your 
eyebrows." 

"Did  you  really  see  all  that  in  me  the  first  night?" 

"I  saw  more.  I  saw  that,  if  taken  in  time,  you 
were  destined  to  be  a  great  actress.  I  swore  then 
and  there  that  you  should  have  your  chance,  and 
that  I  should  be  the  one  to  give  it  to  you." 

"But " 

"No.  Don't  answer  me  now.  You  are  like  a 
little  bud  that 's  afraid  to  open  its  petals.  Once  you 
get  out  of  this  chilling  atmosphere  of  criticism  and 
opposition,  you  will  burst  into  glorious  bloom." 

"But  it  would  mean  a  terrible  break  with  the 
family.  I  don't  believe  I  can " 

"Yes,  you  can.  I  know  you  better  than  you  know 
yourself.  If  Madam  Bartlett  persists  in  refusing 


QUIN  261 

to  send  you  to  New  York,  you  are  going  to  be  big 
enough  to  let  me  do  it." 

He  was  holding  her  hand  now,  and  talking  with 
unusual  earnestness.  Eleanor  thought  she  had  never 
seen  a  greater  exhibition  of  magnanimity.  That  he 
was  willing  to  give  all  and  ask  for  nothing,  to  be 
patient  with  her  vacillations,  and  understand  and 
sympathize  with  what  everybody  else  condemned  in 
her,  touched  her  greatly.  She  turned  to  him  im- 
pulsively. 

"I  '11  do  whatever  you  say,"  she  said.  "You  and 
Papa  Claude  go  ahead  and  make  the  arrangements, 
and  I  promise  you  I  '11  come." 

Harold  Phipps  should  have  left  it  there;  but 
Eleanor  was  never  more  irresistible  than  when  she 
was  in  a  yielding  mood,  and  now,  when  she  lifted 
starry  eyes  of  gratitude,  he  tumbled  off  his  pedestal 
of  noble  detachment,  and  drew  her  suddenly  into 
his  arms. 

In  an  instant  her  soft  mood  vanished.  She 
scrambled  hastily  to  her  feet  and  got  out  of  the  car. 

"I  am  going  in,"  she  said  abruptly.     "I  'm  cold." 

Harold  laughingly  followed.  "Cold?"  he  re- 
peated in  his  laziest  tone.  "My  dear  girl,  you  could 
understudy  the  North  Pole!  However,  it  was  my 
mistake;  I  'm  sorry.  Shall  we  go  in  and  dance?" 

For  the  next  half -hour  he  and  Eleanor  were  the 
most  observed  couple  on  the  floor.  The  "ubiquitous 
youngsters,"  seeing  his  air  of  proprietorship,  forbore 


262  QUIN 

to  break  in,  and  it  was  not  until  the  last  dance  that 
Pink  Bailey,  looking  the  immature  college  boy  he 
was,  presented  himself  apologetically  to  take  Eleanor 
home. 

"Bring  your  car  around,  and  she  will  be  ready," 
said  Harold  loftily.  Then  he  turned  to  Eleanor, 
"I  shall  expect  a  letter  every  day.  You  must  keep 
me  posted  how  things  are  going." 

They  were  standing  on  the  club-house  steps  now, 
and  she  was  looking  dreamily  off  across  the  golf 
links. 

"Did  you  hear  me?"  he  said  impatiently. 

"Oh,  I  was  listening  to  the  whip-poor-wills.  They 
always  take  me  back  to  Valley  Mead.  Write  every 
day?  Heavens,  no.  I  hate  to  write  letters." 

"But  you  '11  write  to  me,  you  little  ingrate !  I 
shall  send  you  such  nice  letters  that  you  '11  have  to 
answer  them." 

A  vagrant  breeze,  with  a  hint  of  autumn,  blew 
Eleanor's  scarf  across  his  shoulder,  and  he  tenderly 
replaced  it  about  her  throat. 

"Are  you  cold?"  he  asked  solicitously. 

Eleanor,  under  cover  of  the  crowd  that  was  surg- 
ing about  them,  felt  a  sudden  access  of  boldness. 

"Not  so  cold  as  some  people  think,"  she  said  mis- 
chievously; then,  without  waiting  for  further  good- 
by,  she  sped  down  the  steps  and  into  the  waiting  car. 


CHAPTER  23 

OF  all  the  multitudinous  ways  in  which  Dan 
Cupid,  Unlimited,  does  business,  none  is  more 
nefarious  than  his  course  by  correspondence.  Once 
he  has  induced  two  guileless  clients  to  plunge  into  the 
traffic  of  love  letters,  the  rest  is  easy.  Wild  specula- 
tion in  love  stock,  false  valuations,  hysterical  desire 
to  buy  in  the  cheapest  and  sell  in  the  dearest  market, 
invariably  follow.  Before  the  end  of  the  month 
Harold  Phipps  and  Eleanor  Bartlett  were  gambling 
in  the  love  market  with  a  recklessness  that  would 
have  staggered  the  most  hardened  old  speculator. 

Harold,  instead  of  being  handicapped  by  his 
absence  at  the  most  critical  point  in  his  love  affair, 
took  advantage  of  it  to  exhibit  one  of  his  most 
brilliant  accomplishments.  He  sent  Eleanor  a  hand- 
some tooled-leather  portfolio  to  hold  his  letters, 
which  he  wrote  on  loose-leaf  sheets  and  mailed  un- 
folded. They  were  letters  that  deserved  preserva- 
tion, prose  poems  composed  with  infinite  pains  and 
copied  with  meticulous  care.  If  the  potpourri  was 
at  times  redolent  of  the  dried  flowers  of  other  men's 
loves,  Eleanor  was  blissfully  unaware  of  it.  When 

he  wrote  of  the  lonesome  October  of  his  most  im- 

263 


264  QUIN 

memorial  year,  or  spoke  of  her  pilgrim  soul  coming 
to  him  at  midnight  in  the  silence  of  the  sleep-time, 
she  thrilled  with  admiration  for  his  genius. 

Such  literary  masterpieces  deserved  adequate 
answers,  and  she  found  herself  trying  to  make  up 
in  quantity  what  she  lacked  in  quality.  His  letters 
always  began,  "Dearest  Heloise,"  or  "Melisande," 
or  "Baucis,"  or  "Isolde";  and,  rather  than  ac- 
knowledge her  ignorance  of  these  classic  allusions, 
she  looked  them  up  and  sent  her  answers  to  "Dear 
Abelard,"  or  "Pelleas,"  or  "Philemon,"  or  "Tristan," 
as  the  case  demanded.  She  indited  her  missives  with 
a  dainty  gold  pen  engraved  with  an  orchid,  which 
Harold  had  requested  her  never  to  profane  by 
secular  use. 

The  correspondence,  while  throbbing  with  emotion, 
was  not  by  any  means  devoid  of  practical  details. 
Harold  lost  no  opportunity  of  urging  Eleanor  to 
remain  firm  in  her  resolve  to  go  to  New  York.  It 
would  be  sheer  folly,  he  pointed  out,  to  give  up  the 
chance  of  a  professional  debut,  a  chance  that  might 
not  come  again  in  years.  He  pointed  out  that  her 
grandfather  had  changed  all  his  plans  on  the 
strength  of  her  coming,  and  would  be  utterly  heart- 
broken if  she  failed  to  keep  her  promise.  He 
delicately  intimated  that  her  failure  to  take  the  part 
he  had  so  laboriously  written  for  her  might  seal  the 
fate  of  "Phantom  Love"  and  prove  the  downfall  of 
both  its  creators. 


QUIN  265 

His  conclusion  to  all  these  specious  arguments 
was  that  the  only  way  out  of  the  tangle  was  for  her 
to  consent  to  a  nominal  engagement  to  him  that 
would  bind  her  to  nothing,  and  yet  would  give  him 
the  right  to  send  her  to  New  York  if  Madam  Bartlett 
refused  to  do  so.  In  answer  to  Eleanor's  doubts  and 
misgivings,  he  assured  her  in  polyphonic  prose  that 
he  knew  her  far  better  than  she  knew  herself,  and 
that  he  would  be  "content  to  wait  at  the  feet  of  little 
Galatea,  asking  nothing,  giving  all,  until  the  happy 
day  when  she  should  wake  to  life  and  love  and  the 
consciousness  that  she  was  wholly  and  happily  his." 

And  Galatea  read  his  letters  with  increasing  ardor 
and  slept  with  them  under  her  pillow.  It  was  all 
so  secret  and  romantic,  this  glorious  adventure  rush- 
ing to  fulfilment,  under  the  prosy  surface  of  every- 
day life.  Of  course  she  did  not  want  to  be  married 
— not  for  ages  and  ages;  but  to  be  engaged,  to  be 
indefinitely  adored  by  a  consummate  lover  like 
Harold  Phipps,  who  so  beautifully  shared  her 
ambition,  was  an  exciting  and  tempting  propo- 
sition. Like  most  girls  of  her  type,  when  her 
personal  concerns  became  too  complex  for  reason, 
she  abandoned  herself  to  impulse.  She  merely 
shut  her  eyes  and  allowed  herself  to  drift  toward 
a  destination  that  was  not  of  her  choosing.  Like 
a  peripatetic  Sleeping  Beauty,  she  moved  through 
the  days  in  a  sort  of  trance,  waiting  liberation  from 
her  thraldom,  but  fearing  to  put  her  fate  to  the 


266  QUIN 

test  by  laying  the  matter  squarely  and  finally  before 
her  grandmother. 

It  was  easy  enough  to  drop  out  of  her  old  round 
of  festivities.  She  had  been  away  all  summer, 
and  new  groups  had  formed  with  which  she  took 
no  trouble  to  ally  herself.  Her  friends  seemed  in- 
ordinately young  and  foolish.  She  wondered  how 
she  had  ever  endured  the  trivial  chatter  of  Kitty 
Mason  and  the  school-boy  antics  of  Pink  Bailey  and 
Johnnie  Rawlings.  After  declining  half  a  dozen  in- 
vitations she  was  left  in  peace,  free  to  devote  all 
her  time  to  composing  her  letters,  to  poring  over 
plays  and  books  about  the  theater,  or  to  sitting 
listless  absorbed  in  day-dreams. 

The  one  old  friend  who  refused  to  be  disposed  of 
was  Quinby  Graham.  On  one  pretext  or  another 
he  managed  to  come  to  the  house  almost  every  day, 
and  he  seldom  left  it  without  managing  to  see  her. 
Sometimes  when  she  was  in  the  most  arduous  throes 
of  composition,  the  maid  would  come  to  her  door 
and  say :  "Mr.  Quin's  downstairs,  and  he  says  can 
you  come  to  the  steps  a  minute — he  's  got  some- 
thing to  show  you?"  Or  Miss  Isobel  would  pause 
on  the  threshold  to  say :  "Quinby  is  looking  for  you, 
Eleanor.  I  think  it  is  something  about  a  new  tire 
for  your  automobile." 

And  Eleanor  would  impatiently  thrust  her  letter 
into  a  desk  drawer  and  do  downstairs,  where  she 
would  invariably  get  so  interested  in  what  Quin  had 


QUIN  267 

to  say  to  her  or  to  show  her  that  she  would  forget 
to  come  up  again. 

Sometimes  they  went  out  to  Valley  Mead  to- 
gether for  week-ends.  On  those  days  Eleanor  not 
only  failed  to  write  to  Harold,  but  also  failed  to 
think  about  him.  The  excitement  of  seeing  what 
new  wonders  had  been  wrought  since  the  last  visit,  of 
scouring  the  woods  for  nuts  and  berries,  of  going 
on  all-day  picnics  to  a  neighboring  hill-top,  made  her 
quite  forget  her  castles  in  the  air.  She  descended 
from  the  clouds  of  art  and  under  Quin's  tutelage 
learned  to  fry  chops  and  bacon  and  cook  eggs  in  the 
open.  She  got  her  face  and  hands  smudged  and  her 
hair  tumbled,  and  she  forgot  all  about  enunciating 
clearly  and  holding  her  poses.  So  abandoned  was 
she  to  what  Harold  called  her  "bourgeois  mood" 
that  she  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  the  sheer  joy 
of  living. 

Often  when  she  and  Quin  were  alone  together, 
she  longed  to  take  him  into  her  confidence.  She 
was  desperately  in  need  of  counsel,  and  his  level 
head  and  clear  judgments  had  solved  more  than  one 
problem  for  her.  But  she  realized  that,  in  spite  of 
the  heroic  effort  he  was  making  to  keep  within 
bounds,  he  was  nevertheless  liable  to  overflow  into 
sentiment  with  the  slightest  encouragement.  Con- 
fession of  her  proposed  flight,  moreover,  involved 
an  explanation  of  her  relation  to  Harold  Phipps, 


268  QUIN 

and  upon  that  point  Quin  could  not  be  counted  to 
sympathize. 

With  the  first  of  November  came  a  letter  that 
brought  matters  to  a  crisis.  Claude  Martel  wrote 
that  he  must  know  immediately  the  date  of  her 
arrival  in  New  York,  since  the  place  he  had  be- 
spoken for  her  at  the  Kendall  School  of  Expression 
could  no  longer  be  held  open;  he  must  also  give  a 
definite  answer  about  the  apartment. 

Eleanor  received  the  letter  one  Saturday  as  she 
was  starting  to  a  tea.  All  afternoon  she  listened  to 
the  local  chatter  about  her  as  a  lark  poised  for  flight 
might  listen  to  the  twittering  of  house  sparrows. 
Her  mind  was  in  a  ferment  of  elation  and  doubt, 
of  trepidation  and  joyful  anticipation.  The  moment 
she  had  longed  for  and  yet  dreaded  was  at  hand. 

Returning  across  Central  Park  in  the  dusk,  she 
rehearsed  what  she  was  going  to  say  to  her  grand- 
mother. The  moment  for  approaching  her  had 
never  seemed  more  propitious.  Ever  since  she  had 
accepted  Quin's  advice  and  "cottoned  up"  to  the 
old  lady,  relations  between  them  had  been  amazingly 
amicable.  Her  willingness  to  stay  at  home  in  the 
evening  and  take  Miss  Enid's  place  as  official  reader 
and  amanuensis  had  placed  her  in  high  favor,  and 
Madam,  not  to  be  outdone  in  magnanimity,  had 
allowed  her  many  privileges. 

Now  that  there  seemed  some  ground  for  the  hope 
that  she  might  gain  her  grandmother's  consent  to 


QUIN  269 

the  New  York  proposition,  Eleanor  realized  how 
ardently  she  wanted  it.  It  was  not  the  money  alone, 
it  was  her  moral  support  and  approval — hers  and 
Aunt  Isobel's.  Aunt  Enid  would  understand,  had 
understood  in  a  way;  so  would  Uncle  Ranny  and 
Aunt  Flo.  As  for  Quin  Graham 

She  heard  a  cough  near  by,  and  turning  saw  a 
couple  sitting  on  a  bench  half  hidden  in  the  heavy 
shrubbery.  Their  backs  were  toward  her,  and  she 
noticed  that  the  girl's  hand  rested  on  the  man's 
shoulder  and  that  their  heads  were  bent  in  intimate 
conversation.  The  next  instant  she  recognized  Rose 
Martel's  hat  and  the  dim  outline  of  Quin's  troubled 
profile. 

Turning  sharply  to  the  right,  she  hurried  up 
through  the  pergola  and  out  into  the  avenue.  She 
wondered  why  she  was  so  unaccountably  angry. 
Rose  and  Quin  had  a  perfect  right  to  sit  in  the  square 
at  twilight  and  talk  as  much  as  they  liked.  It  was 
not  her  business,  anyhow,  she  told  herself ;  she  ought 
to  be  glad  for  poor  Rose  to  have  any  diversion  she 
could  get  after  being  in  that  hideous  store  all  day. 
She  did  n't  blame  Rose  one  bit.  But  if  Quin 
thought  as  much  of  somebody  else  as  he  pretended 
to,  she  could  n't  see  what  he  would  have  to  say  to 
another  girl  out  here  in  the  park  at  twilight,  es- 
pecially a  girl  that  he  saw  three  times  a  day  at  home ! 
Could  there  be  anything  between  them?  She  had 
scorned  the  idea  when  it  was  once  tentatively  sug- 


270  QUIN 

gested  to  her  by  Harold  Phipps.  Of  course  there 
could  n't.  And  yet 

So  preoccupied  was  she  with  these  disturbing  re- 
flections that  she  almost  forgot  the  real  business  in 
hand  until  she  stood  on  her  own  doorstep  waiting 
to  be  admitted. 

"Old  Miss  says  for  you  to  come  up  to  her  room 
the  minute  you  git  in,"  Hannah  said,  with  an 
ominous  note  in  her  voice. 

"What's  the  matter,  Hannah?     Uncle  Ranny?" 

"Lord,  no,  honey !  Mr.  Ranny's  behavin'  himself 
like  a  angel.  Hit  was  somethin'  that  come  in  the 
mail.  Miss  Isobel  she  don't  know,  and  I  don't 
know ;  but  Old  Miss  certainly  has  got  it  in  f er  some- 
body." 

Eleanor's  new-found  confidence  promptly  de- 
serted her,  and  she  hastily  took  stock  of  her  own 
shortcomings.  Of  course  she  was  writing  daily  to 
Harold,  but  the  matter  of  her  private  correspondence 
had  been  threshed  out  during  the  summer  and  she 
had  emerged  battered  but  victorious.  Aside  from 
that,  she  could  think  of  no  probable  cause  she  had 
given  for  offense. 

In  the  hall  she  met  Miss  Isobel. 

"Mother  has  been  asking-  for  you,  dear,"  she  said 
in  a  voice  heavy  with  premonition.  "She  's  very 
much  upset  about  something." 

Eleanor  anxiously  mounted  the  stairs.  It  was 
evidently  not  a  propitious  moment  to  present  her 


QUIN  271 

case;  and  yet,  Papa  Claude  must  have  an  answer 
within  twenty- four  hours.  At  the  door  of  Madam's 
room  she  hesitated.  Then  she  took  the  small  rem- 
nant of  her  courage  in  both  hands  and  entered. 

Madam  was  sitting  at  her  desk  under  the  crystal 
chandelier,  with  a  severity  of  expression  that  sug- 
gested nothing  less  than  a  court  martial.  Without 
speaking  she  waved  Eleanor  to  a  seat,  and  began 
searching  through  her  papers.  The  light  fell  full 
on  her  high  white  pompadour  and  threw  the  deep 
lines  about  her  grim  mouth  into  heavy  relief. 

"Do  you  remember,"  she  began  ponderously,  "a 
check  I  gave  you  the  day  of  Enid's  wedding?" 

"Yes,  grandmother." 

"Well,  where  is  the  bag  you  bought  with  it?" 

Evasion  had  so  often  been  Eleanor's  sole  weapon 
of  defense  that  she  seized  it  now. 

"I — I  haven't  bought  it  yet,"  she  faltered;  then 
she  added  weakly :  "I  have  n't  seen  any  I  particu- 
larly cared  about." 

"You  still  have  the  money?" 

"Well — I  've  spent  some  of  it." 

"How  much?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  remember  exactly." 

Madam's  lip  curled. 

"Perhaps  I  can  stimulate  your  memory,"  she  said, 
running  her  fingers  through  a  bunch  of  canceled 
checks.  "Here  is  the  check  I  gave  you,  indorsed 
to  Rose  Martel." 


272  QUIN 

Eleanor  flushed  crimson.  The  imputation  of  un- 
truth fulness  was  one  to  which  she  was  particularly 
sensitive.  Her  fear  of  her  grandmother  had  taught 
her  early  in  life  to  take  refuge  in  subterfuge,  a  shel- 
ter that  she  heartily  despised  but  which  she  still 
clung  to.  In  her  desire  to  meet  Rose's  imperative 
need,  she  had  passed  her  gift  on  to  her,  with  the 
intention  of  saving  enough  from  her  own  allowance 
to  get  the  mesh  bag  later.  The  fact  that  the  can- 
celed check  would  be  returned  to  her  grandmother 
had  never  occurred  to  her. 

"So  that's  where  my  money  has  been  going!" 
cried  Madam.  "They  've  succeeded  in  working  me 
through  you,  have  they?  Just  as  they  succeeded 
in  working  Ranny  through  Quinby  Graham." 

"No — no,  grandmother!  Please  listen!  They 
have  never  asked  me  for  a  penny.  But  when  I  found 
out  the  terrible  time  they  'd  been  having,  the  children 
sick  all  summer  and  Cass  down  with  typhoid — why, 
if  it  had  n't  been  for  Quin " 

"So  they  sponged  on  him  too,  did  they?  He's 
a  bigger  fool  than  I  gave  him  credit  for  being." 

"But  they  did  n't  sponge.  He  is  Cass's  best 
friend,  and  he  was  glad  to  help.  He  and  Rose  did 
all  the  nursing  themselves." 

"Yes,  I  heard  about  it.  In  the  house  alone  for 
six  weeks.  That  does  n't  speak  very  well  for  her 
reputation." 

"Grandmother !     You  Ve  no  right  to  say  thatj 


QUIN  273 

Rose  may  talk  recklessly  and  do  foolish  things,  but 
she  would  n't  do  anything  wrong  for  the  world." 

"Well,  if  she  did,  she  would  n't  be  the  first  mem- 
ber of  her  family  to  compromise  a  man  so  that  he 
had  to  marry  her." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Eleanor,  quiv- 
ering with  indignation. 

"That 's  neither  here  nor  there,"  said  Madam. 
"There  's  enough  rottenness  in  the  present  without 
raking  up  the  past.  But  one  thing  is  certain :  if  they 
ask  you  for  money  again " 

"I  tell  you,  they  did  n't  ask  me !" 

"Not  in  so  many  words,  perhaps,  but  they  worked 
on  your  sympathies.  I  know  them !  As  for  Claude 
Martel,  he  would  want  nothing  better  than  have  you 
traveling  around  in  some  Punch  and  Judy  show. 
But  I  scotched  that  nonsense  once  and  for  all.  As 
for  their  bleeding  you  for  money," — she  rose  and 
crushed  the  check  in  her  hand, — "I  guess  I  know  a 
way  to  stop  that." 

Eleanor  rose  too,  and  faced  her.  She  was  very 
pale  now,  her  anger  having  reached  a  white  heat. 

"My  mother's  people  may  be  poor,"  she  said  de- 
liberately, "but  they  are  n't  beggars,  and  at  least 
they  've  come  by  what  they  have  honestly." 

It  was  Madam's  turn  to  flinch.  A  certain  famous 
law-suit  in  the  history  of  Bartlett  &  Bangs  had 
brought  out  some  startling  testimony,  and  the  subject 
was  one  to  which  reference  was  never  allowed  in 


274  QUIN 

Madam's  presence.  At  Eleanor's  words  the  whirl- 
wind of  her  wrath  let  loose.  Her  words  hurtled 
like  flying  missiles  in  a  cyclone.  She  lashed  herself 
into  a  fury,  coming  back  to  Eleanor  again  and  again 
as  the  cause  of  all  her  trouble. 

"I  tried  giving  you  your  head,"  she  raged  in 
conclusion ;  "I  let  you  work  through  that  crazy  stage 
fever;  I  gave  in  about  that  man  Phipps  coming  up 
to  Maine,  in  the  hope  that  you  'd  find  out  what  a 
fool  he  is.  That  was  n't  enough !  You  had  to  write 
to  him.  Very  well,  said  I;  go  ahead  and  write  to 
him.  I  flattered  myself  that  you  might  develop  a 
little  sense.  But  I  was  mistaken.  You  haven't 
got  the  judgment  of  a  ten-year-old  child.  There- 
fore I  intend  to  treat  you  like  a  child.  From  this 
time  on  you  are  not  to  write  to  him  at  all.  And 
you  '11  get  no  allowance.  I  '11  buy  you  what  you 
need,  and  you  '11  account  for  all  the  pin-money  you 
spend,  down  to  every  postage  stamp.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

Eleanor  was  by  this  time  at  the  door,  standing 
with  her  hand  on  the  knob,  straight,  pale,  and  de- 
fiant, but  quivering  in  every  limb.  She  felt  as 
beaten,  bruised,  and  humiliated  as  if  the  violence 
directed  against  her  had  been  physical.  A  sick  long- 
ing surged  over  her  for  Aunt  Enid,  into  whose  arms 
she  could  rush  for  comfort.  But  there  was  no  Aunt 
Enid  to  turn  to,  and  it  was  no  use  seeking  Aunt 


QUIN  275 

Isobel,  whose  sole  advice  in  such  a  crisis  was  to 
apologize  and  propitiate. 

Catching  her  breath  in  a  long,  sobbing  sigh, 
Eleanor  rushed  down  the  gloomy  hall  and  shut  her- 
self in  her  room.  For  ten  minutes  she  sat  at  her 
desk,  staring  grimly  at  the  wall,  with  her  hands 
gripped  in  her  lap.  She  was  like  a  frenzied  pris- 
oner, determined  to  escape  but  with  no  destination 
in  view.  Suddenly  her  eyes  fell  on  an  unopened 
letter  on  her  blotting-pad.  She  tore  off  the  envelop 
and  read  it  twice.  For  another  five  minutes  she 
stared  at  the  wall.  Then  she  seized  her  pen  and 
dashed  off  a  note.  It  took  but  a  few  minutes  after 
that  to  change  her  light  gown  for  a  dark  one  and  to 
fling  some  things  into  a  suit-case.  Just  as  dinner 
was  being  announced,  she  slipped  down  the  back 
stairs  and  out  of  the  side  door  into  the  somber  dusk 
of  the  November  evening. 


CHAPTER  24 

OUIN'S  life  at  the  factory  these  past  three 
weeks  had  been  full  of  new  and  engrossing 
business  complications.  Mr.  Bangs  seemed  bent 
upon  trying  him  out  in  various  departments,  each 
change  bringing  new  and  distracting  duties.  Just 
what  was  the  object  of  the  proceeding  Quin  had  no 
idea;  but  he  realized  that  he  was  being  singled  out 
and  experimented  with,  and  he  applied  to  each  new 
task  the  accumulated  knowledge  and  experience  of 
those  that  had  gone  before.  It  was  all  very  exciting 
and  gratifying  to  a  person  possessed  of  an  inordinate 
ambition  to  have  a  worthy  shrine  ready  the  moment 
his  goddess  evinced  the  slightest  willingness  to 
occupy  it. 

"Old  Iron  Jaw's  got  his  optic  on  you  for  some- 
thing," said  Miss  Leaks,  the  stenographer.  "Maybe 
he  wants  you  to  pussy-foot  around  in  Shields'  shoes 
and  do  his  dirty  work  for  him." 

"Well,  he 's  got  another  guess  coming,"  said 
Quin;  but  her  remark  disturbed  him.  Of  course  it 
was  no  concern  of  his  how  the  firm  did  business, 
but  more  than  once  he  had  been  called  upon  to  ne- 

276 


QUIN  277 

gotiate  some  delicate  matter  that  was  not  at  all  to 
his  liking. 

"See  here,  young  man,"  Mr.  Bangs  said  upon  one 
of  these  occasions,  "I  am  not  paying  you  for  advice. 
You  are  here  to  carry  out  my  orders  and  to  make 
no  comments." 

"That 's  all  right,"  Quin  agreed  good-naturedly ; 
"but  I  got  a  conscience  that  was  trained  to  stand 
on  its  hind  legs  and  bark  at  a  lie." 

"The  quicker  you  muzzle  it  the  better,"  said  Mr. 
Bangs.  "You  can't  do  business  these  days  by  the 
Golden  Rule." 

On  the  Saturday  when  Eleanor  saw  Quin  in  the 
park  with  Rose  Martel,  the  factory  had  been  in 
the  throes  of  one  of  its  most  violent  upheavals. 
Some  weeks  before  the  old  steam  engine  had  been 
replaced  by  an  expensive  electric  drive.  There  had 
been  much  interest  manifested  in  the  installation  of 
the  modern  motor,  and  Quin,  with  his  natural  love 
of  machinery,  had  rejoiced  that  his  duties  as  ship- 
ping clerk  required  him  to  be  present  at  the  unpack- 
ing. He  and  Dirk,  the  foreman,  never  tired  of  dis- 
cussing the  perfection  of  each  particular  feature. 
But  a  few  days  after  the  departure  of  the  installa- 
tion foreman,  the  new  motor  burnt  out,  necessitating 
the  shutting  down  of  the  factory  and  causing  much 
inconvenience. 

Dirk  was  beside  himself  with  rage.  He  declared 
that  something  heavy  had  been  dropped  upon  the 


278  QUIN 

armature  winding,  and  he  blamed  every  one  who 
could  have  been  responsible,  and  some  who  could 
not.  In  the  midst  of  his  tirade  he  was  summoned 
to  the  office,  where  he  was  closeted  for  more  than 
an  hour  with  Mr.  Bangs  and  Mr.  Shields.  When 
he  emerged,  it  was  with  the  avowed  belief  that  the 
armature  had  been  defective  when  received.  This 
sudden  change  of  front,  taken  in  connection  with 
the  fact  that  the  third  payment  was  due  on  the  motor 
in  less  than  sixty  days,  set  every  tongue  wagging. 

Quin  was  in  no  way  involved  in  the  transaction; 
but,  as  usual,  he  had  an  emphatic  opinion,  which  he 
did  not  hesitate  to  express. 

"I  don't  know  what 's  got  into  Dirk!''  he  said  in- 
dignantly to  Mr.  Shields,  the  traffic  manager,  as 
they  left  the  office  together.  "He  knows  the  injury 
to  the  armature  was  done  in  our  shop  and  that  we 
are  responsible  for  it." 

"I  guess  Dirk  's  like  the  rest  of  us,"  said  Shields 
bitterly;  "he  knows  a  lot  he  can't  tell." 

"What  do  you  mean?  Do  you  think  it  was  a 
frame-up?" 

"Well,  we  don't  call  it  that.  But  when  the  boss 
gets  in  a  hole,  somebody  's  got  to  pull  him  out.  I  'm 
getting  mighty  sick  of  it  myself.  Wish  to  the  Lord 
I  could  pull  up  stakes  as  Mr.  Bartlett  and  Mr.  Ches- 
ter did." 

It  was  not  until  they  separated  that  Quin's 
thoughts  left  the  disturbing  events  of  the  day  and 


QUIN  279 

flew  to  something  more  pleasing.  For  two  weeks 
now  he  had  had  to  content  himself  with  chance  in- 
terviews with  Eleanor,  meager  diet  for  a  person 
with  an  omnivorous  appetite ;  but  to-night  there  was 
the  prospect  for  a  long,  uninterrupted  evening. 
Since  the  day  of  Miss  Enid's  wedding  he  had  found 
her  perplexed  and  absent-minded;  but  the  fact  that 
she  always  had  a  smile  for  him,  and  that  nothing 
was  seen  or  heard  of  Harold  Phipps,  sufficed  to 
satisfy  him. 

When  he  started  across  Central  Park  the  sun  was 
just  setting,  and  he  turned  off  the  main  path  and 
dropped  down  on  a  bench  to  rest  for  a  moment. 
He  had  acquired  a  taste  for  sunsets  at  a  tender  age, 
having  watched  them  from  many  a  steamer's  prow. 
He  knew  how  the  harbor  of  Hongkong  brimmed  like 
a  goblet  of  red  wine,  how  Fujiyama's  snow-capped 
peak  turned  rose,  he  knew  how  beautiful  the  sun 
could  look  through  a  barrage  of  fire.  But  it  was 
of  none  of  these  that  he  thought  as  he  sat  on  the 
park  bench,  his  arms  extended  along  the  back,  his 
long  legs  stretched  out,  and  his  eyes  on  a  distant 
smokestack.  He  was  thinking  of  a  country  stile  and 
a  girl  in  white  and  green,  in  whose  limpid  eyes  he 
watched  the  reflected  light  of  the  most  wonderful  of 
all  his  sunsets. 

For  the  third  time  since  leaving  the  office,  he  con- 
sulted his  watch.  Six-thirty!  Another  hour  and 
a  half  must  be  got  through  before  he  could  see  her. 


280  QUIN 

A  rustle  of  leaves  behind  him  made  him  look  up, 
but  before  he  could  turn  his  head  two  hands  were 
clapped  over  his  eyes.  Investigation  proved  them 
to  be  feminine,  and  he  promptly  took  them  captive. 

"It's  Rose?"  he  guessed. 

"Let  me  go!"  she  laughed;  "somebody  will  see 
you." 

She  slipped  around  the  bench  and  dropped  down 
beside  him. 

"I  was  coming  out  the  avenue  and  spied  you 
mooning  over  here  by  yourself.  What 's  the  trou- 
ble?" 

"No  trouble  at  all.  Just  stopped  to  get  my  wind 
a  bit — and  watch  the  sunset." 

"I  think  you  are  working  too  hard."  She  looked 
at  him  with  anxious  solicitude.  "I  Ve  a  good  notion 
to  put  you  on  buttermilk  again." 

"Good  work !  Put  me  on  anything  you  like  except 
dried  peaches  and  wienies." 

"And  you  need  more  recreation,"  Rose  persisted. 
"It 's  not  good  for  anybody  to  work  all  day  and  go 
to  school  at  night.  What 's  the  matter  with  us  get- 
ting Cass  and  Fan  Loomis  and  going  down  to 
Fontaine  Ferry  to-night?" 

"Can't  do  it,"  said  Quin  with  ill-concealed  pride. 
"Got  a  date  with  Miss  Eleanor  Bartlett." 

Rose  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  stirring  the  dead 
leaves  with  her  shabby  boot;  then  she  turned  and 
laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 


QUIN  28! 

"Quin,"  she  said,  "I  am  worried  sick  about  Nell 
and  Harold  Phipps." 

Quin,  who  had  been  trying  to  beguile  a  squirrel 
into  believing  that  a  pebble  was  a  nut,  looked  up 
sharply. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  said.  "She  has  n't 
seen  him  since  last  summer,  and  she  never  mentions 
his  name." 

"Don't  she  ?  She  hardly  talks  about  anything  else. 
She  writes  to  him  all  the  time  and  wears  his  picture 
in  her  watch!" 

"Do  you  know  that?" 

"Of  course  I  know  it.  She  can't  talk  about  him 
at  home,  so  she  pours  it  all  out  to  me." 

"But  have  n't  you  told  her  what  you  know  about 
him?" 

"I  Ve  hinted  at  it,  but  she  won't  believe  me  be- 
cause she  knows  I  hate  him.  I  wanted  to  tell  her 
iabout  what  he  said  to  me,  and  about  that  nurse  he 
got  into  trouble  out  at  the  hospital ;  but  I  was  afraid 
it  might  make  an  awful  row  and  spoil  everything 
for  Papa  Claude." 

"I  don't  care  who  it  spoils  things  for!  She's 
got  to  be  told."  Quin's  eyes  were  blazing. 

"But  perhaps  if  we  leave  it  alone  he  '11  get  tired 
of  her.  They  say  he  keeps  after  a  girl  until  he  gets 
her  engaged  to  him,  then  drops  her." 

"He  'd  never  drop  Miss  Nell.  No  man  would. 
He  'd  be  trying  to  marry  her." 


282  QUIN 

"But  what  can  we  do?  The  more  people  talk 
about  him,  the  more  she  's  going  to  take  up  for  him. 
That 's  Nell  all  over." 

"Couldn't  Mr.  Mattel " 

"Papa  Claude  's  as  much  taken  in  as  she  is.  You 
remember  the  night  over  home  when  he  talked  about 
his  lovely  detached  soul?  He  never  sees  the  truth 
about  anybody." 

"Well,  he  's  going  to  see  the  truth  about  this.  If 
you  don't  write  to  him  to-night  and  tell  him  the  kind 
of  man  Mr.  Phipps  is,  I  will!" 

"Wait  till  to-morrow.  I  '11  have  another  round 
with  Nell.  I  've  got  some  proof  that  I  think  she  '11 
have  to  believe." 

Quin  rose  restlessly.  He  wanted  to  go  to  the 
Bartletts'  at  once,  if  only  to  stand  guard  at  the  gate 
against  the  danger  that  threatened  Eleanor. 

"Aren't  you  coming  home  to  supper?"  asked 
Rose. 

"No,"  he  said  absently ;  "I  don't  want  any  supper." 

For  an  hour  he  paced  the  streets,  trying  to  think 
things  out.  His  burning  desire  was  to  go  straight 
to  Eleanor  and  lay  the  whole  matter  before  her. 
But  according  to  his  ethics  it  was  a  poor  sport  who 
would  discredit  a  rival,  especially  on  hearsay.  He 
must  leave  it  to  Rose,  and  let  her  furnish  the  proof 
she  said  she  possessed. 

At  eight  o'clock  he  rang  the  Bartletts'  bell,  and 
<was  surprised  when  Miss  Isobel  opened  the  door. 


QUIN  283 

"She  isn't  here,"  she  said  in  answer  to  his  in- 
quiry. "We  cannot  imagine  what  has  become  of 
her.  She  must  have  gone  out  just  before  dinner,  and 
she  has  not  returned." 

"Did  n't  she  say  where  she  was  going?" 

"No."  Miss  Isobel's  lips  worked  nervously;  then 
she  drew  Quin  into  the  dining-room  and  closed  the 
door.  "She  and  mother  had  a  very  serious  misun- 
derstanding, and — and  I  'm  afraid  mother  was  a 
little  severe.  I  did  not  know  Eleanor  was  gone  until 
she  failed  to  come  down  to  dinner.  I  've  just  sent 
Hannah  up  to  telephone  my  brother  to  see  if  she 
is  there." 

"She  probably  is."  Quin  spoke  with  more  as- 
surance than  he  felt.  "About  what  time  did  she 
leave  here?" 

"It  must  have  been  between  six-thirty  and  seven. 
How  long  would  it  take  her  to  get  out  to  Ranny's  ?" 

"Depends  on  whether  she  went  in  her  machine 
or  a  street-car,"  said  Quin  evasively.  "Besides,  she 
imay  have  gone  to  the  Martels'." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Miss  Isobel,  twisting  her 
handkerchief  in  her  slender  fingers;  "because,  you 
see,  she — she  took  her  suit-case." 

For  the  first  time,  Quin's  face  reflected  the  anxiety 
of  Miss  Isobel's. 

When   Hannah  returned  she   reported  that  net, 
one  answered  the  telephone  at  the  Randolph  Bart- 
Letts'. 


284  QUIN 

"Suppose  the  child  gets  there  and  nobody  is  at 
home!"  groaned  Miss  Isobel,  whose  imagination 
always  rushed  toward  disaster.  "What  on  earth 
shall  I  do?" 

"Leave  it  to  me,"  said  Quin.  "I  '11  run  around  to 
the  Martels',  and  if  she  's  not  there  I  '11  go  out  to 
Valley  Mead.  She  's  sure  to  be  one  place  or  the 
other." 

"Of  course  she  must  be;  but  I'm  so  anxious! 
You  will  go  right  away,  won't  you  ?  And  telephone 
the  minute  you  find  out  where  she  is.  Then  I  '11 
tell  mother  I  gave  her  permission  to  go." 

Miss  Isobel  pushed  him  toward  the  door  as  she 
spoke : 

"You — you  don't  think  anything  dreadful  could 
have  happened  to  her,  do  you?" 

Quin  patted  her  shoulder  reassuringly. 

"Of  course  not,"  he  blustered.  "She  '11  probably 
be  in  before  I  get  around  the  corner.  If  not,  I  bet 
I  find  her  at  the  Martels',  toasting  marshmallows." 

In  spite  of  his  assumed  confidence,  he  ran  every 
step  of  the  way  home.  As  he  turned  the  corner  he 
saw  with  dismay  that  the  house  was  dark.  His 
call  in  the  front  hall  brought  no  answer.  He  turned 
on  the  light,  and  saw  an  unstamped  letter  addressed. 
to  himself  on  the  table.  The  fact  that  the  writing 
was  Eleanor's  did  not  tend  to  decrease  his  alarm. 

He  tore  off  the  envelop  and  read: 


QUIN  285 

Dear  Quin: 

Grandmother  has  said  things  to  me  that  I  can  never  for- 
give as  long  as  I  live.  I  am  leaving  her  house  in  a  few 
moments  forever.  By  the  time  you  get  this  I  shall  be  on 
my  way  to  Chicago  to  join  Harold  Phipps.  We  have 
been  engaged  for  two  weeks.  I  did  not  mean  to  marry 
him  for  years  and  years,  but  I  Ve  simply  got  to  do  some- 
thing. He  cares  more  for  me  and  my  career  than  any  one 
else  in  the  world,  and  he  understands  me  better  than 
anybody. 

You'll  get  this  when  you  go  home  to  supper,  and  I 
want  you  to  telephone  Aunt  Isobel  right  away  and  tell 
her  I  won't  be  home  to-night.  She  will  think  I  am  with 
Rose  and  that  will  keep  her  from  being  anxious.  I  don't 
care  how  anxious  grandmother  is !  To-morrow  I  '11  send 
them  a  wire  from  Chicago  telling  them  I  'm  married. 

Dear  Quin,  I  know  this  is  a  terribly  serious  step,  and  I 
know  you  won't  approve;  but  I  am  unhappy  enough  to 
die,  and  I  don't  know  where  else  to  turn,  or  what  to  do. 
Some  day  I  hope  you  will  know  Mr.  Phipps  better,  and 
see  what  a  really  fine  man  he  is.  Do  try  to  comfort  Aunt 
Isobel,  and  make  her  understand.  Please  don't  hate  me, 
but  try  to  forgive  your  utterly  miserable  friend, 

E.  M.  B. 

Quin  stood  staring  at  the  letter.  He  felt  as  he 
had  on  that  August  day  when  the  flying  shrapnel 
struck  him — the  same  intense  nausea,  the  deadly 
exhaustion,  the  bursting  pain  in  his  head.  Invol- 
untarily he  raised  his  hand  to  the  old  wound,  half 
expecting  to  feel  the  blood  stream,  again  through 
his  fingers. 

"Married !  Married I"  he  kept  repeating  to  him- 
self dazedly.  "Miss  Nell  gone  to  marry  that  man, 
that  scoundrel!" 

He  sat  down  on  the  stair  steps  and  tried  to  hold 
the  thought  in  his  mind  long  enough  to  realize  it. 


286  QUIN 

But  Phipps  himself  kept  getting  in  the  way :  Phipps 
the  slacker,  as  he  had  known  him  in  the  army; 
Phipps  the  condescending  lord  of  creation,  who  had 
refused  to  take  his  hand  at  Mr.  Ranny's;  and 
oftenest  of  all  Phipps  the  philanderer,  who  had  in- 
sulted Rose  Martel,  and  been  responsible  for  the 
dismissal  of  more  than  one  nurse  from  the  hospital. 
The  mere  thought  of  such  a  man  in  connection  with 
Eleanor  Bartlett  made  Quin's  strong  fingers  clench 
around  an  imaginary  neck  and  brought  beads  of 
perspiration  to  his  forehead. 

"Something's  got  to  be  done !"  he  thought  wildly, 
staggering  to  his  feet.  "I  got  to  stop  it ;  I  got " 

Then  the  sense  of  his  helplessness  swept  over  him, 
and  he  sat  down  again  on  the  steps.  She  had 
evidently  left  on  the  eight-o'clock  train  for  Chicago, 
and  it  was  now  eight-thirty.  There  was  nothing  to 
be  done.  What  a  fool  he  had  been  to  go  on  hoping 
and  daring !  She  had  told  him  again  and  again  that 
she  didn't  care  for  him;  but  she  had  also  told  him 
that  she  did  not  intend  to  marry  anybody.  But  if 
she  had  n't  cared  for  him,  why  had  she  come  to  him 
with  her  troubles,  and  followed  his  advice,  and 
wanted  his  good  opinion?  Why  had  she  looked  at 
him  the  way  she  had  the  day  of  Miss  Enid's  wed- 
ding, and  said  she  remembered  her  dances  with  him 
better  than  those  with  anybody  else?  In  bitterness 
of  spirit  he  went  over  all  the  treasured  words  and 
glances  he  had  hoarded  since  the  day  he  met  her. 


QUIN  287 

He  didn't  believe  she  loved  Harold  Phipps!  She 
did  n't  love  anybody — yet.  But,  in  her  mad  desire 
to  escape  from  home,  she  had  taken  the  first  means 
that  presented  itself.  She  had  stepped  into  a  trap, 
from  which  he  was  powerless  to  rescue  her. 

In  a  sudden  anguish  of  despair  he  flung  himself 
face  downward  on  the  steps  and  gave  way  to  his 
anguish.  There  was  no  one  to  see  and  no  one  to 
hear.  All  the  doubts  and  discouragements,  the 
humiliations  and  disappointments,  through  which 
he  had  passed  to  win  her,  came  back  to  mock  him, 
now  he  had  lost  her.  The  world  had  suddenly  be- 
come an  intolerable  vacuum  in  which  he  gasped 
frantically  for  breath. 

What  was  the  use  in  going  on?  Why  not  put 
an  end  to  everything  ?  He  could  make  it  appear  an 
accident.  Nobody  would  be  the  wiser.  The  tempta- 
tion was  growing  stronger  every  second,  when  he 
suddenly  remembered  Miss  Isobel. 

"I  forgot  she  was  waiting,"  he  muttered,  stum- 
bling into  the  sitting-room  and  fumbling  for  the 
telephone.  "Miss  Nell  said  I  was  to  keep  her  from 
being  anxious — she  wanted  me  to  comfort  her.  But 
what  in  hell  can  I  say!" 


CHAPTER  25 

AT  nine-thirty  Edwin  came  in  and  passed  up  the 
creaking  stairs.  Ten  minutes  later  Cass 
limped  by  the  door,  stopping  a  moment  in  the  pantry 
to  get  a  bite  to  eat.  Quin  sat  motionless  in  the  dark 
sitting-room  and  made  no  sign.  He  was  waiting 
for  Rose,  with  a  dumb  dependence  the  strongest 
man  feels  for  the  understanding  feminine  in  times 
of  crisis. 

When  he  heard  her  cheerful  voice  calling  good 
night  to  Fan  Loomis,  the  clock  was  just  striking 
ten. 

"Quin!  What  is  it?"  she  cried  in  alarm  the  mo- 
ment she  saw  his  face.  "Is  anybody  dead?" 

"Worse !    She  's  run  away  to  get  married !" 

"Not  Myrna?" 

"No.  Miss  Nell.  She  left  to-night  for  Chicago 
to  marry  Phipps !" 

"But  she  can't!"  cried  Rose  wildly.  "It's  got 
to  be  stopped.  He  's  not  fit  to  marry  anybody ! 
We  've  got  to  stop  her !" 

"I  tell  you,  it 's  too  late !  She  left  on  the  eight- 
o'clock  train." 

288 


QUIN  289 

"Who  said  so  ?  Are  you  sure  ?  Do  the  Bartletts 
know?" 

"Nobody  knows  but  you  and  me;  nobody  must 
know — yet.  Maybe  she  '11  change  her  mind." 

"But  the  Bartletts  will  miss  her.  Have  they  called 
up?" 

"I  'phoned  Miss  Isobel  that  she  was  all  right  and 
she  'd  telephone  in  the  morning.  All  right !  Good 
God,  Rose,  can't  we  do  something?" 

"If  I  could  get  Harold  Phipps's  address  I  'd  send 
him  a  telegram  that  would  scare  the  wits  out  of 
him." 

Quin  brushed  the  suggestion  aside.  "It 's  no  use 
wasting  time  on  him;  we  've  got  to  reach  her." 

"But  how  can  we  ?  Let  me  think.  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  could  send  her  a  telegram  to  be  delivered  on 
the  train?  Anything  that  would  make  her  wait 
until  somebody  could  get  to  her." 

"I  '11  get  to  her,"  Quin  cried.  "I  '11  search  every 
hotel  in  Chicago.  You  send  the  telegram  and  I  'II 
start  on  the  next  train." 

A  hurried  consultation  of  time-tables  showed  that 
a  Pennsylvania  train  left  in  ten  minutes,  and  was 
due  in  Chicago  the  next  morning  at  seven-thirty. 

"You  can't  make  that,"  said  Rose,  but  even  as  she 
spoke  Quin  was  rushing  for  the  door. 

"Have  you  got  enough  money?"  she  called  after 
him. 

His  meteor  flight  was  checked.     Ramming  his 


290  QUIN 

hands  in  his  pockets,  he  pulled  out  a  handful  of 
silver. 

"Wait!"  cried  Rose,  speeding  up  to  her  room  and 
and  returning  with  a  small  roll  of  bills.  "It 's 
what 's  left  of  Nell's  check.  Good-by — I  '11  send 
the  telegram." 

Ten  minutes  later,  as  the  night  express  for  Chi- 
cago pulled  out  of  the  station,  the  bystanders  were 
amused  by  the  sight  of  a  bare-headed  young  man 
dashing  madly  through  the  gate  and  across  the  rail- 
road tracks.  The  train  had  not  yet  got  under  way, 
but  its  speed  was  increasing  and  the  runner's 
chances  lessened  every  moment. 

"He  '11  never  catch  it,"  said  the  gate-keeper. 
"He  'd  lost  his  wind  before  he  got  here." 

"He  ain't  lost  his  nerve,"  said  a  negro  porter, 
craning  his  neck  in  lively  interest.  "He's  lettin' 
hisself  go  lak  a  Derby-winner  on  de  home  stretch !" 

"Has  he  give  up  ?"  asked  the  gate-keeper,  turning 
aside  to  stamp  a  ticket. 

"Not  him.  He  's  bound  to  ketch  dat  train  ef  it 
busts  a  hamstring.  He  's  done  got  holt  de  rear  plat- 
form !  He  's  pullin'  hisself  up !  There !  I  tole 
you  so!  I  knowed  he  was  the  kind  of  fellow  that 
gits  what  he  goes  after." 

Quin  caught  the  train,  but  he  paid  for  his  run. 
A  brakeman  found  him  collapsed  on  the  platform, 
in  such  a  paroxysm  of  coughing  that  the  train  had 
covered  many  miles  before  he  was  sufficiently  re- 


QUIN  291 

covered  to  go  inside  and  take  a  seat.  But,  even  as 
he  leaned  back  limp  and  exhausted,  he  was  conscious 
of  a  dull  satisfaction  that  he  was  traveling  toward 
Eleanor.  He  refused  to  think  of  the  absurdity  of 
his  wild  quest,  of  her  probable  anger  at  his  inter- 
ference. He  fought  back  his  despair,  his  jealousy, 
his  inordinate  fear.  The  one  thing  necessary  now 
was  to  get  to  her — to  be  on  hand  in  case  she  needed 
him. 

Through  the  interminable  hours  of  the  night 
almost  every  breath  came  with  an  effort,  but  he 
scarcely  heeded  the  fact.  With  characteristic  per- 
sistence he  forced  himself  to  follow  her  steps  in 
imagination  from  the  time  she  left  home  until  she 
reached  her  destination.  The  eight-o'clock  sleeper 
that  she  had  taken  was  due  in  Chicago  at  five-thirty. 
She  would  probably  not  leave  it  before  seven  at  the 
earliest,  and  by  that  time  Rose's  telegram  ought  to 
have  reached  her.  He  tried  to  picture  its  effect  on 
her.  Much  would  depend  upon  the  time  that  inter- 
vened between  its  reception  and  her  seeing  Mr. 
Phipps.  If  he  met  her,  as  he  probably  would,  he 
.  would  sweep  aside  all  her  doubts.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  Eleanor  had  time  to  think  the  matter  over, 
her  innate  common  sense  might  make  her  wait  at 
least  until  she  heard  what  Rose  had  to  tell  her.  On 
the  bare  chance  of  his  not  meeting  her,  what  would 
she  do?  Take  the  next  train  home?  Go  to  his 
apartment?  Go  to  a  hotel  alone? 


292  QUIN 

Plan  after  plan  rushed  through  Quin's  mind, 
only  to  be  impatiently  discarded.  He  sat  tense  and 
still,  with  his  clenched  hands  rammed  in  his  pockets 
and  his  eyes  ^ixed  on  the  black  square  of  the  win- 
dow. Sometimes  dim  objects  flew  past,  and  now 
and  then  sharp,  vivid  lights  stabbed  the  darkness. 
Once  the  smelting-pots  of  a  huge  iron  foundry 
belched  forth  a  circle  of  swirling  flames,  and  for  a 
moment  wrenched  his  mind  off  his  problems.  Then 
the  regular  pounding  of  the  wheels  on  the  rails 
recalled  him. 

"She  's  gone  to  be  married.  Gone — to  be  mar- 
ried. Gone — to  be  married." 

He  realized  that  they  had  been  saying  it  in  mo- 
notonous rhythm  ever  since  he  started — that  they 
would  go  on  saying  it  through  eternity. 

Suddenly  the  train  jarred  to  a  standstill.  Figures 
with  lanterns  emerged  through  a  cloud  of  steam 
and  stood  under  his  window. 

"Guess  we  got  a  hot-box,"  said  a  sleepy  passen- 
ger across  the  aisle.  "That  means  I  '11  miss  my 
connection." 

Quin  got  up  and  went  out  on  the  platform.  He 
was  filled  with  rage  at  the  lazy  deliberation  with 
which  the  men  set  about  their  task.  He  longed  to 
wrench  the  tools  out  of  their  hands  and  do  the  job 
himself. 

"How  much  will  this  put  us  behind?"  he  de- 
manded of  the  conductor. 


QUIN  293 

"Oh,  not  more  than  twenty  minutes.  We  '11  make 
some  of  it  up  before  morning." 

Once  more  under  way,  Quin  dropped  into  a 
troubled  sleep.  He  dreamed  that  he  was  pursuing 
a  Hun  over  miles  of  barbed-wire  entanglements; 
but  when  he  overtook  him  and  forced  him  to  the 
ground,  the  face  under  the  steel  helmet  was  the 
smiling,  supercilious  face  of  Harold  Phipps.  He 
woke  up  with  a  start  and  stretched  his  cold  limbs. 
The  black  square  of  the  window  had  turned  to 
gray;  arrows  of  rain  shot  diagonally  across  it.  He 
realized  for  the  first  time  that  he  had  neither  hat 
nor  overcoat,  but  he  did  not  care.  In  ten  minutes 
more  he  would  be  in  Chicago,  in  the  same  city  with 
Eleanor. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  it  was  pouring  rain 
when  the  train  pulled  into  the  station,  Quin  stood 
on  the  lowest  step  of  the  platform,  ready  to  alight. 

"Say,  young  fellow,  you  forgot  your  hat,"  said 
a  man  behind  him. 

"Didn't  have  any,"  answered  Quin. 

"I  got  an  extra  cap  if  you  want  it,"  offered  the 
man  obligingly. 

Quin,  already  on  the  platform,  caught  it  as  the 
man  tossed  it  out  to  him.  Dashing  through  the 
depot,  he  hurled  himself  into  a  taxi. 

"Monon  Station!"  he  shouted,  "and  drive  like 
the  devil." 

Just  what  kind  of  chauffeur  the  devil  is  has  never 


294  QUIN 

been  demonstrated,  but  if  that  taxi-driver,  urged 
on  by  Quin,  was  his  counterpart,  it  is  safe  to  infer 
that  there  are  no  traffic  laws  in  Hades.  In  spite  of 
the  fact  that  the  streets  were  like  glass  from  the 
driving  rain,  and  the  wind-shield  a  gray  blur,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  a  tire  went  flat  on  a  rear  wheel, 
that  decrepit  old  taxi  rose  to  the  occasion  and  made 
the  transit  in  record  time. 

Arrived  at  the  station,  Quin  thrust  a  bill  into  the 
driver's  hand  and  dashed  down  the  steps  to  the 
lower  level.  In  answer  to  his  frenzied  inquiry  he 
was  told  that  the  Express  had  come  in  two  hours 
before  and  that  the  passengers  had  probably  all  left 
the  sleeper  by  this  time. 

Nothing  daunted,  he  rushed  out  to  the  tracks  and 
accosted  a  porter  who  was  sweeping  out  the  rear 
coach. 

"Yas,  sir,  this  is  it,"  answered  the  negro. 
"Young  lady?  Yas,  sir;  there  was  five  or  six  of 
'em  on  board  last  night.  Pretty?  Yas,  sir,  they 
was  all  pretty — all  but  one,  and  she  wasn't  so  bad 
looking." 

"Did  one  of  them  get  a  telegram  in  the  night  or 
this  morning?" 

The  porter's  face  brightened.  "Yas,  sir.  Boy 
come  through  soon  as  we  got  in.  Had  a  wire  for 
young  lady  in  lower  six." 

"Do  you  know  what  time  she  left  the  car?" 

"About  half  hour  ago,  I  should  say.     Party  she 


QUIN  295 

was  expecting  to  meet  her  didn't  turn  up,  and  I 
had  to  git  her  a  red-cap  to  carry  her  suit-case. 
Thanky,  sir." 

Quin  tore  back  to  the  station  and  dashed  through 
the  waiting-room,  the  dining-room,  the  baggage- 
room.  He  was  on  the  point  of  going  out  to  the 
taxi-stand  and  interrogating  each  driver  in  turn, 
when  his  eyes  were  caught  by  a  smart  suit-case  that 
lay  unattended  on  one  of  the  seats.  It  bore  the 
inscription  "E.M.B.— Ky." 

In  his  sudden  relief  he  could  have  snatched  it  up 
and  embraced  it.  But  where  was  Eleanor?  For 
five  interminable  minutes  he  stood  guard  over  her 
property,  watching  every  exit  and  entrance,  and 
pacing  the  floor  in  his  impatience.  Suddenly  an 
idea  occurred  to  him,  and,  cursing  himself  for  his 
Stupidity,  he  strode  over  to  the  telephone-booths. 

Eleanor  was  in  the  corner  one,  the  receiver  at  her 
ear,  evidently  waiting  for  her  call.  As  Quin  flung 
upon  the  door  she  turned  and  faced  him  in  defiant 
surprise. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  she  demanded  in- 
dignantly. "Did  grandmother  send  you?" 

"No;  she  does  n't  know  I  'm  here." 

Eleanor  turned  nervously  to  the  telephone. 

"Hello!  I  can't  understand  you.  Put — what? 
Oh!  I  forgot.  Wait  a  minute " 

Letting  the  receiver  swing,  she  fumbled  in  her 


296  QUIN 

purse ;  then,  finding  no  small  change,  looked  appeal- 
ingly  at  Quin. 

He  produced  the  necessary  coin  and  handed  it 
to  her. 

"I  don't  think  I  'd  put  it  in  just  yet,"  he  said 
quietly. 

For  a  moment  she  paused  irresolute;  then  she 
dropped  the  coin  in  the  slot. 

"Is  this  the  Hotel  Kington?"  she  asked.  "Will 
you  please  try  again  to  get  Mr.  Phipps — Harold 
Phipps?  P-h-i-p-p-s." 

Quin  watched  her  fingers  drumming  on  the  shelf, 
and  he  knew  he  ought  to  go  out  of  the  booth  and 
close  the  door ;  but  instead  he  stayed  in  and  closed  it. 

"He  doesn't  answer?"  Eleanor  was  repeating 
over  the  telephone.  "Will  you  please  page  the 
dining-room,  and  if  he  is  not  at  breakfast  send  a 
bell-boy  up  to  waken  him?  It's  very  important." 

Again  there  was  a  long  wait,  during  which 
Eleanor  did  not  so  much  as  turn  her  head  in  Quin's 
direction.  It  was  only  when  her  answer  came  that 
she  looked  at  him  blankly. 

"They  say  he  is  n't  there.  The  chambermaid  was 
cleaning  the  room,  and  said  his  bed  had  not  been 
disturbed." 

Then,  seeing  a  humorously  unsympathetic  look 
flit  across  Quin's  face,  she  burst  out  angrily: 

"What  right  had  you  to  follow  me  over  here?" 

They  were  standing  very  close  in  the  narrow  glass 


QUIN  297 

enclosure,  and  as  he  looked  down  at  the  small, 
trembling  figure  with  her  back  against  the  wall 
and  her  eyes  full  of  frightened  defiance,  he  felt  un- 
comfortably like  a  hunter  who  has  run  down  some 
young  wild  thing  and  holds  it  at  bay. 

"Please,  Miss  Nell,"  he  implored,  "don't  think 
I  'm  going  to  peach  on  you !  Whatever  you  do, 
I  '11  stand  by  you.  Only  I  thought,  perhaps,  you 
might  need  a  friend." 

"I  have  a  friend!"  she  retorted  furiously.  "If 
Harold  Phipps  had  received  my  telegram  last  night, 
nothing  in  the  world  could  have  stopped  him  from 
meeting  me — nothing!" 

Then  the  defiance  dropped  from  her  eyes,  leaving 
her  small  sensitive  face  quivering  with  hurt  pride 
and  an  overwhelming  doubt.  She  bit  her  lips  and 
turned  away  to  hide  her  tears. 

Quin  put  a  firm  hand  on  her  arm  and  piloted  her 
back  to  her  suit-case. 

"What  we  both  need  is  breakfast,"  he  said. 
"Come  to  think  of  it,  I  haven't  had  a  mouthful 
since  yesterday  noon." 

"Neither  have  I ;  but  I  could  n't  swallow  a  bite. 
Besides,  I  've  got  to  find  Harold." 

"Well,  you  can't  do  anything  till  he  gets  back  to 
the  hotel.  If  you  '11  come  in  with  me  while  I  get  a 
cup  of  coffee,  we  can  talk  things  over." 

She  followed  him  reluctantly  into  the  dining- 
room,  but  refused  to  order  anything1.  For  some 


298  QUIN 

time  she  sat  with  her  chin  on  her  clasped  hands, 
watching  the  door;  then  she  turned  toward  him 
accusingly. 

"Did  you  see  Rose's  telegram  ?" 

"No." 

He  watched  her  open  her  purse  and  take  out  a 
yellow  slip,  which  she  handed  to  him. 

"Don't  take  the  step  planned.  Imperative  reasons  for- 
bid. Rose." 

he  read  slowly ;  then  he  looked  up.    "Well  ?"  he  said. 

"What  does  she  mean?"  burst  forth  Eleanor. 
"How  dared  she  send  me  a  message  like  that  unless 
she  knew  something " 

She  broke  off  abruptly  and  her  eyes  searched 
Quin's  face.  But  he  was  apparently  counting  the 
grains  of  sugar  that  were  going  into  his  coffee,  and 
refused  to  look  up. 

"If  it  had  been  grandmother  or  Aunt  Isobel 
I  shouldn't  have  been  in  the  least  surprised;  they 
are  just  a  bunch  of  prejudices  and  believe  every  idle 
story  they  hear.  But  Rose  is  different.  She's 
known  about  Harold  and  me  for  months.  She  for- 
warded his  letters  to  me  when  I  was  in  Baltimore. 
And  now  for  her  to  turn  against  me  like  this " 

"Why  don't  you  wait  till  you  hear  her  side  of  it  ?" 
suggested  Quin,  still  concerned  with  the  sugar-bowl. 

"How  can  I?"  cried  Eleanor,  flinging  out  her 
hands.  "I  Ve  no  place  to  go,  and  I  've  no  money. 


QUIN  299 

If  I  had  had  money  enough  I  'd  have  gone  straight 
to  Papa  Claude  last  night." 

Quin's  heart  gained  a  beat.  He  made  a  hurried 
calculation  of  his  financial  resources  in  the  vain  hope 
that  that  might  yet  be  the  solution  of  the  difficulty. 
Whatever  was  to  be  done  must  be  done  at  once,  for 
Harold  Phipps  might  arrive  at  any  moment,  and 
Quin  felt  instinctively  that  his  advent  would  decide 
the  matter. 

"I  wish  I  had  enough  to  send  you,"  he  said,  "but 
all  I  Ve  got  is  my  return  ticket  and  enough  to  buy 
another  one  for  you." 

At  the  mere  suggestion  Eleanor's  anger  flared. 

"I'll  never  go  back  to  grandmother's !  I  '11  jump 
in  the  lake  first!" 

"What's  the  matter  with  Valley  Mead?" 

"What  good  would  that  do  ?  Grandmother  would 
make  Uncle  Ranny  send  me  straight  home.  No; 
I  Ve  thought  of  all  those  things — it 's  no  use." 

"You  could  go  to  the  MartelsV 

"Yes,  and  put  another  burden  on  Cass.  I  tell  you, 
I  'm  not  going  home.  I  am  going  to  see  Harold, 
and — and  talk  things  over,  and  perhaps  go  straight 
on  to  New  York  to-night." 

"You  can't  see  him  if  he  is  out  of  town." 

"Why  do  you  think  he  is  out  of  town?" 

"Well,  he  is  n't  here,"  Quin  observed  dryly. 

The  next  moment  he  was  sorry  he  had  said  it, 
for  the  light  died  out  of  her  face  and  she  looked 


300  QUIN 

so  absurdly  young  and  helpless  that  it  was  all  he 
could  do  to  refrain  from  gathering  her  up  in  his 
arms  and  carrying  her  home  by  force. 

"See  here,  Miss  Nell,"  he  said  earnestly,  leaning 
across  the  table.  "Would  you  be  willing  to  go  back 
to  the  Martels'  if  you  knew  that  this  time  next 
month  you  'd  be  in  New  York  with  money  enough 
to  carry  you  through  the  winter?" 

"No.    That  is — whose  money?" 

"Your  own.  I  '11  go  to  Queen  Vic  and  put  the 
whole  thing  up  to  her  so  she  can't  get  around  it." 

Eleanor  brushed  the  suggestion  aside  impatiently. 

"Don't  you  suppose  I  Ve  exhausted  every  possible 
argument?  And  now,  when  she  finds  out  what  I  've 
done " 

"But  you  have  n't  done  anything — yet." 

"She  would  n't  believe  me  if  I  told  her  that  I 
had  n't  seen  Harold.  She  never  believes  me." 

"She  'd  believe  me"  said  Quin,  "and  what 's  more 
she  'd  listen  to  me." 

Eleanor  did  not  answer;  she  sat  doggedly  watch- 
ing the  swinging  doors,  through  which  a  draggled 
throng  came  and  went. 

"He  '11  be  here  soon,"  she  said  half-heartedly — 
"unless  he  's  gone  off  for  a  week-end  somewhere. 
If  he  doesn't  come  soon  we  can  go  up  to  the  hotel 
and  find  out  whether  he  left  any  address.  Perhaps 
you  could  get  me  a  room  there  until  to-morrow." 

Quin's  courage  was  at  its  lowest  ebb.    It  was  like 


QUIN  301 

trying  to  save  a  drowning  person  who  fights  despe- 
rately against  being  saved.  He  heard  a  stentorian 
voice  through  a  megaphone  announcing  that  the 
eight-thirty  train  for  the  southwest  would  leave  in 
five  minutes  on  track  three,  and  he  decided  to  stake 
his  all  on  a  last  chance. 

"That 's  my  train,"  he  said,  rising  briskly.  "Are 
you  coming  with  me,  or  are  you  going  to  stay  here  ?" 

"I  am  going  to  stay.  But  you  can't  leave  me  like 
this  f  It 's  pouring  rain  and  I  have  n't  any  umbrella, 
and  if  I  get  to  the  hotel  and  he  isn't  there,  what 
shall  I  do?  Why  don't  you  help  me,  Quin?  Why 
don't  you  stay  with  me  till  he  comes  ?" 

"Sorry,"  said  Quin,  steeling  his  heart  against 
those  appealing  eyes  and  praying  for  strength  to  be 
firm,  "but  I  've  got  to  be  ready  to  go  back  to  work 
to-morrow  morning.  Is  it  good-by?" 

He  held  out  his  hand,  but  she  did  not  take  it. 
Instead  she  clutched  his  sleeve. 

"What  would  you  do,  Quin?"  she  asked.  "Tell 
me  honestly,  not  what  you  want  me  to  do,  or  think 
I  ought  to  do,  but  what  would  you  do  in  my  place  ?" 

In  spite  of  his  pretended  haste,  he  stopped  to  con- 
sider the  matter. 

"Well,"  he  admitted  frankly,  "it  would  depend 
entirely  on  how  much  I  trusted  the  fellow  I  'd  prom- 
ised to  marry." 

"I  do  trust  him,  and  I  'm  going  to  marry  him ; 
but,  you  see,  Rose's  telegram,  and  his  not  being  here, 


302  QUIN 

and  all,  have  made  me  so  unhappy !  I  know  he  can 
explain  everything  when  I  see  him,  only  I  don't 
know  what  to  do  now.  Do  you  think  I  ought  to  go 
back?" 

"That 's  for  you  to  decide." 

"But  I  tell  you  I  can't  decide.  Somebody  's  al- 
ways made  up  my  mind  for  me,  and  now  to  have  to 
decide  this  big  thing  all  in  a  minute " 

"All  aboard  for  the  Southwestern  Limited !"  came 
the  voice  through  the  megaphone. 

Eleanor  glanced  instinctively  at  her  suit-case,  then 
up  at  Ouin. 

"Shall  I  take  it?"  he  asked,  with  his  heart  in  his 
throat ;  and  then,  when  she  did  not  say  no,  he  seized 
it  in  one  hand  and  her  in  the  other. 

"We  'd  better  run  for  it!"  he  said. 

"But,  Quin — wait  a  minute — I  won't  go  to  grand- 
mother's !  You  've  got  to  protect  me " 

"You  leave  it  to  me!"  he  said,  as  he  thrust  her 
almost  roughly  through  the  crowd  and  rushed  her 
toward  the  gate. 


CHAPTER  26 

SO  I  am  to  understand  that  the  young  lady  defies 
my  authority  and  refuses  point-blank  to  come 
home." 

"That 's  about  what  it  comes  to,  I  reckon." 

It  was  evening  of  that  eventful  Sunday  when 
Eleanor  and  Quin  had  returned  from  Chicago.  He 
and  Madam  Bartlett  sat  facing  each  other  in  the 
sepulchral  library,  where  the  green  reading-light  cast 
its  sickly  light  on  Lincoln  and  his  Cabinet,  on  An- 
drew Jackson  dying  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  on 
Madam  savagely  gripping  the  lions'  heads  on  the 
arms  of  her  mahogany  chair. 

That  her  quarrel  with  Eleanor  and  the  girl's  sub- 
sequent flight  had  made  the  old  lady  suffer  was 
evinced  by  the  pinched  look  of  her  nostrils  and  the 
heavy,  sagging  lines  about  her  mouth;  but  in  her 
grim  old  eyes  there  was  no  sign  of  compromise. 

"Very  well !"  she  said.  "Let  her  stay  at  her  pre- 
cious Martels'.  She  will  stand  just  about  one  week 
of  their  shiftlessness.  I  shan't  send  her  a  stitch  of 
clothes  or  a  cent  of  money.  Maybe  I  can  starve 
some  sense  into  her." 

Quin  traced  the  pattern  in  the  table-cover  with  a 
303 


3o4  QUIN 

massive  brass  paper-knife.  It  was  a  delicate  busi- 
ness, this  he  had  committed  himself  to,  and  every- 
thing depended  upon  his  keeping  Madam's  confi- 
dence. 

"You  never  did  try  letting  her  have  her  head,  did 
you?"  He  put  the  question  as  a  disinterested  ob- 
server. 

"No.  I  don't  intend  to  until  she  gets  this  fool 
stage  business  out  of  her  mind." 

"Well,  of  course  you  can  hold  that  up  for  six 
months,  but  you  can't  stop  it  in  the  end." 

"Yes,  I  can,  too.  I  'd  like  to  know  if  I  didn't 
keep  Isobel  from  being  a  missionary,  and  Enid  from 
marrying  Francis  Chester  when  he  did  n't  make 
enough  money  to  pay  her  carfare." 

"That 's  so,"  agreed  Quin  cheerfully.  "And  then, 
there  was  Mr.  Ranny."  He  waited  for  the  remark 
to  sink  in ;  then  he  went  on  lightly :  "But  say !  They 
all  belong  to  another  generation.  Things  are  run  on 
different  lines  these  days." 

"More's  the  pity!  Every  little  fool  of  a  kite 
thinks  all  it  lias  to  do  is  to  break  its  string  to  be 
free." 

"Miss  Nell  don't  want  to  break  the  string;  she 
just  wants  it  lengthened." 

Madam  turned  upon  him  fiercely. 

"See  here,  young  man.  You  think  I  don't  know 
what  you  are  up  to ;  but,  remember,  I  was  n't  born 


QUIN  305 

yesterday.    If  Eleanor  has  sent  you  up  here  to  talk 
this  New  York  stuff " 


"She  hasn't;  I  came  of  my  own  accord." 

"Well,  you  need  n't  think  just  because  I  've  shown 
you  a  few  favors  that  you  can  meddle  in  family  af- 
fairs. It 's  not  the  first  time  you  've  attended  to 
other  people's  business." 

Her  fingers  were  working  nervously  and  her  eyes 
beginning  to  twitch.  She  made  Quin  think  of  Min- 
erva when  Mr.  Bangs  came  into  the  office. 

"I  bet  there  's  one  time  you  are  glad  I  meddled," 
he  said  with  easy  good  humor.  "You  might  have 
been  walking  on  a  peg-stick,  Queen  Vic,  if  I  had  n't 
butted  in.  Do  you  have  to  use  your  crutches  now?" 

"Crutches!  I  should  say  not.  I  don't  even  use 
a  cane.  See  here !" 

She  rose  and,  steadying  herself,  walked  slowly  and 
painfully  to  the  door  and  back. 

"Bully  for  you!"  said  Quin,  helping  her  back  into 
the  chair.  "Now  what  were  we  talking  about?" 

"You  were  trying  to  hold  a  brief  for  Eleanor." 

"So  I  was.  You  see,  I  had  an  idea  that  if  you  'd 
let  me  put  the  case  up  to  you  fair  and  square,  maybe 
you  'd  see  it  in  a  different  light." 

"Well,  that 's  where  you  were  mistaken." 

"How  do  you  know  ?  You  have  n't  listened  to  me 
yet!" 

Madam  glared  at  him  grimly. 

"Go  ahead,"  he  said.  "Get  it  out  of  your  system." 


QUIN 

"Well,  it 's  like  this,"  Quin  plunged  into  his  sub- 
ject. "Next  July  Miss  Nell  will  be  of  age  and  have 
her  own  money  to  do  as  she  likes  with,  won't  she  ?" 

"She  won't  have  much,"  interpolated  Madam. 
"Twenty  thousand  won't  take  her  far." 

"It  will  take  her  to  New  York  and  let  her  live 
pretty  fine  for  two  or  three  years.  Everybody  will 
cotton  up  to  her  and  flatter  her  and  make  her  think 
she  's  a  second  Julia  Marlowe,  and  meantime  they  '11 
be  helping  her  spend  her  money.  Now,  my  plan  is 
this.  Why  don't  you  give  her  just  barely  enough  to 
live  on,  and  let  her  try  it  out  on  the  seamy  side  for 
the  next  six  months  ?  Nobody  will  know  who  she  is 
or  what 's  coming  to  her,  and  maybe  when  she  comes 
up  against  the  real  thing  she  won't  be  so  keen  about 
it." 

Madam  followed  him  closely,  and  for  a  moment 
it  looked  as  if  the  common  sense  of  his  argument 
appealed  to  her.  Then  her  face  set  like  a  vise. 

"No!"  she  thundered  her  decision.  "It  would  be 
nothing  less  than  handing  her  over  bodily  to  that 
pompous  old  biped  Claude  Martel!  For  the  next 
six  months  she  has  got  to  stay  right  here,  where  I 
can  know  what  she  is  doing  and  where  she  is !" 

"Do  you  know  where  she  was  last  night  ?"  Quin 
played  his  last  trump. 

She  shot  a  suspicious  look  at  him  from  under  her 
shaggy  brows. 

"You  said  she  was  at  the  Martels'." 


QUIN  307 

"I  did  not.  I  said  she  was  all  right  and  you  'd 
hear  from  her  to-day." 

"Where  was  she?" 

"She  was  on  the  way  to  Chicago  to  join  Mr. 
Phipps." 

He  could  not  have  aimed  his  blow  more  accurately. 
Its  effect  was  so  appalling  that  he  feared  the  conse- 
quences. Her  face  blanched  to  an  ashy  white  and 
her  eyes  were  fixed  with  terror. 

"She — she — has  n't  married  him  ?"  she  cried 
hoarsely. 

"No,  no;  not  yet.    But  she  may  any  time." 

"Good  Lord !  Why  have  n't  you  told  me  this  be- 
fore? Call  Isobel!  No!  she's  at  church!  Get 
Ranny!  Somebody  must  go  after  the  child!" 

Quin  laid  a  quieting  hand  on  her  arm,  which  was 
shaking  as  if  with  the  palsy. 

"Don't  get  excited,"  he  urged.  "Somebody  did 
go  after  her  last  night,  and  brought  her  home." 

"But  where  is  she  now?  Where  is  that  contemp- 
tible Phipps  ?  I  '11  have  him  arrested !  Are  you  sure 
Nellie  is  safe?" 

"I  left  her  safe  and  sound  at  the  Martels'  half  an 
hour  ago.  Will  you  listen  while  I  tell  you  all  about 
it?" 

As  quietly  as  he  could  he  told  the  story,  inter- 
rupted again  and  again  by  Madam's  hysterical  out- 
bursts. When  he  had  finished  she  struggled  to  her 
feet. 


QUIN 

"The  child  is  stark  mad !"  she  cried.  "I  am  going- 
after  her  this  instant." 

"She  won't  see  you,"  warned  Quin. 

"I  '11  show  you  whether  she  sees  me  or  not !  I 
am  going  to  bring  her  home  with  me  to-night.  She  's 
got  to  be  protected  against  that  scoundrel.  Ring  for 
the  carriage!" 

Quin  did  not  move.  "She  said  if  any  of  you 
started  after  her  you  'd  find  her  gone  when  you  got 
there." 

"But  who  will  tell  her?" 

"I  will.  I  promised  she  would  n't  have  to  see  you. 
It  was  the  only  way  I  could  get  her  back  from 
Chicago." 

She  scowled  at  him  in  silence,  measuring  his  de- 
termination against  her  own. 

"Very  well,"  she  said  at  last.  "Since  you  are  in 
such  high  favor,  go  and  tell  her  that  she  can  come 
home,  and  nothing  more  will  be  said  about  it.  I 
suppose  there's  nothing  else  to  do  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. But  I'll  teach  her  a  lesson  later!" 

Quin  balanced  the  paper-knife  carefully  on  one 
finger. 

"I  don't  think  you  quite  understand,"  he  said. 
"She  is  n't  coming  home.  She  still  says  she  is  going 
to  marry  Mr.  Phipps.  He  will  probably  get  her 
telegram  when  he  goes  to  the  hotel,  and  when  she 
doesn't  turn  up  in  Chicago  he  will  take  the  first 


QUIN  309 

train  down  here.  That 's  the  way  I  've  figured  it 
out." 

"And  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  sit  here,  and  do 
nothing  while  all  this  is  taking  place?" 

"No;  that's  what  I  been  driving  at  all  along.  I 
want  you  and  Miss  Nell  to  come  to  some  compro- 
mise before  he  gets  here." 

"What  sort  of  compromise?  Haven't  I  swal- 
lowed my  pride  and  promised  to  say  nothing  if  she 
comes  back?  Does  she  want  me  to  get  down  on 
my  knees  and  apologize?" 

"No.  That 's  the  trouble.  She  don't  want  you 
to  do  anything.  All  she  is  thinking  about  is  getting 
married  and  going  to  New  York." 

"She  can  go  to  New  York  without  that!  That 
contemptible  man!  I  knew  all  summer  he  was  fill- 
ing her  head  with  romantic  notions,  but  I  never 
dreamed  of  this.  Why,  she  's  nothing  but  a  child! 

She  does  n't  know  what  love  is "  Then  her 

voice  broke  in  sudden  panic.  "We  must  stop  it  at 
any  cost.  Go — go  promise  her  anything.  Tell  her 
I  '11  send  her  to  New  York,  to  Europe,  anywhere  to 
get  her  out  of  that  wretch's  clutches.  My  poor 
child !  My  poor  baby !" 

Her  grief  was  no  less  violent  than  her  anger  had 
been,  and  her  tearless  sobs  almost  shook  her  worn 
old  frame  to  pieces. 

Quin  knew  just  how  she  felt.  It  had  been  like 
that  with  him  last  night  when  he  heard  the  news. 


310  QUIN 

With  one  stride  he  was  beside  her  and  had  gathered 
her  into  his  arms. 

"There,  there !"  he  said  tenderly.  "It 's  going  to 
be  all  right.  We  are  going  to  find  a  way  out." 

This  unexpected  caress,  probably  the  first  one 
Madam  had  received  in  many  years,  reduced  her  to 
a  state  of  unprecedented  humility.  She  transferred 
her  resentment  from  Eleanor  to  Harold  Phipps,  and 
announced  herself  ready  to  follow  whatever  course 
Quin  suggested. 

"I  'd  offer  her  just  this  and  nothing  more,"  he 
advised:  "The  fare  to  New  York,  tuition  at  the 
dramatic  school,  and  ten  dollars  a  week." 

"She  can't  live  on  that." 

"Yes,  she  can.    Rose  Martel  does." 

Madam  became  truculent  at  once. 

"Don't  quote  that  girl  to  me.  Eleanor  's  been 
used  to  very  different  surroundings." 

"That 's  the  point.  Let  her  have  what  she  has  n't 
been  used  to.  You  have  tried  giving  her  a  bunch 
of  your  money  and  telling  her  how  to  spend  it.  Try 
giving  her  a  little  of  her  own  and  letting  her  do  as 
she  likes  with  it." 

"I  don't  care  what  she  does  for  the  present,  if 
she  just  won't  marry  that  man  Phipps.  Make  her 
give  you  her  word  of  honor  not  to  have  anything 
whatever  to  do  with  him  for  the  next  six  months. 
By  that  time  she  will  have  forgotten  all  about  him." 


QUIN  '311 

"I'll  do  my  best,"  said  Quin,  rising.  "You'll 
hear  from  me  first  thing  in  the  morning." 

"Well,  go  now !  But  ring  first  for  Hannah.  We 
must  pack  the  child's  things  to-night.  The  main 
thing  is  to  get  her  out  of  town  before  that  hound 
can  get  here.  Don't  you  thing  either  Ranny  or 
Isobel  had  better  take  her  on  to  New  York  to- 
morrow ?" 

Quin  returned  to  the  Martels'  breathing  easily  for 
the  first  time  in  twenty-four  hours.  As  he  passed 
Rose's  room  on  the  way  to  his  own,  he  saw  a  light 
over  the  transom,  and  heard  the  girls'  voices  rising 
in  heated  argument.  He  knew  that  the  subject 
under  discussion  was  Harold  Phipps,  and  that  Rose's 
arraignment  was  meeting  with  indignant  denial  and 
protest.  But  the  fact  that  Rose  could  offer  specific 
evidence  that  would  shake  the  staunchest  confidence 
gave  him  grim  satisfaction. 

He  stumbled  into  his  own  small  room,  and  lay 
across  the  bed  looking  up  at  the  shadows  made  by 
the  street  lamp  on  the  ceiling.  Would  Miss  Nell 
believe  what  she  heard?  Would  it  go  very  hard 
with  her?  Would  she  give  Phipps  up?  Would  she 
accept  Madam's  offer?  And,  if  she  did,  would  she 
ever  be  willing  to  come  home  again  ? 

Then  his  thoughts  swerved  away  from  all  those 
perplexing  questions  and  went  racing  back  over  the 
events  of  the  day.  For  nine  blissful  hours  he  had 
had  Eleanor  all  to  himself.  They  had  taken  a  day- 


312  QUIN 

coach  to  avoid  meeting  any  one  she  knew,  and  he 
load  managed  to  secure  a  rear  seat,  out  of  the  range 
of  curious  eyes.  Here  she  had  poured  out  all  her 
troubles,  allowing  the  accumulated  bitterness  of 
years  to  find  vent  in  a  torrent  of  unrestrained  con- 
fidence. 

She  recalled  the  days  of  her  unhappy  childhood, 
when  she  had  been  fought  over  and  litigated  about 
and  contended  for,  until  the  whole  world  seemed 
a  place  of  hideous  discord  and  petty  jealousies.  She 
pictured  her  circumscribed  life  at  the  Bartletts',  shut 
in,  watched  over,  smothered  with  care  and  affection, 
but  never  allowed  an  hour  of  freedom.  She  dwelt 
on  the  increasing  tyranny  of  her  grandmother,  the 
objection  to  her  friends,  the  ruthless  handling  of 
several  prospective  lovers.  And  she  ended  by  tell- 
ing him  all  about  her  affair  with  Harold  Phipps, 
and  declaring  that  nothing  they  could  say  or  do 
would  make  her  give  him  up !  And  then,  quite  worn 
out,  she  had  fallen  asleep  and  her  head  had  drooped 
against  his  shoulder. 

Quin  could  feel  now  the  delicious  weight  of  her 
limp  body  as  she  leaned  against  him.  He  had  sat 
so  still,  in  his  fear  of  waking  her,  that  his  arm  had 
been  numb  for  an  hour.  Then,  later  on,  when  she 
did  wake  up,  he  had  got  her  some  cold  water  to 
bathe  her  face,  and  persuaded  her  to  eat  a  sandwich 
and  drink  a  glass  of  milk.  After  that  she  had 
felt  much  better,  and  even  cheered  up  enough  to 


QUIN  313 

laugh  at  the  way  he  looked  in  the  queer  cap  the 
obliging  stranger  had  given  him. 

"I  could  make  her  happy!  I  know  I  could  make 
her  happy!"  he  whispered  passionately  to  the  sha- 
dows on  the  ceiling.  "She  don't  love  me  now;  but 
maybe  when  she  gets  over  this " 

His  thoughts  leaped  to  the  future.  He  must  be 
ready  if  the  time  ever  came.  He  must  forge  ahead 
in  the  next  six  months,  and  be  in  a  position  by 
the  time  Eleanor  had  tried  out  her  experiment  to 
put  his  fate  to  the  test.  He  must  make  up  to  old 
Bangs,  and  stop  criticizing  his  methods  and  saying 
things  that  annoyed  him.  He  must  sacrifice  every- 
thing now  to  the  one  great  object  of  pleasing  him. 
Pleasing  him  meant  advancement;  advancement 
meant  success;  success  might  mean  Eleanor! 

He  got  up  restlessly  and  tiptoed  to  the  door.  The 
light  over  Rose's  transom  was  gone  and  the  house 
was  silent. 


ELEANOR  did  not  leave  for  New  York  the 
following  day.  Neither  did  she  see  Harold 
Phipps  when  he  arrived  on  the  morning  train.  His 
anxious  inquiries  over  the  telephone  were  met  by 
Rose's  cool  assurance  that  Miss  Bartlett  was  spend- 
ing the  week-end  with  her,  and  that  she  would  write 
and  explain  her  silly  telegram.  His  demand  for  an 
immediate  interview  was  parried  with  the  excuse  that 
Miss  Bartlett  was  confined  to  her  bed  with  a  severe 
headache  and  could  not  see  any  one.  Without  say- 
ing so  directly,  Rose  managed  to  convey  the  im- 
pression that  Miss  Bartlett  was  quite  indifferent  to 
his  presence  in  the  city  and  not  at  all  sure  that 
she  would  be  able  to  see  him  at  all. 

This  was  an  interpretation  of  the  situation  de- 
cidedly more  liberal  than  the  facts  warranted.  Even 
after  Eleanor  had  been  served  with  the  unpalatable 
truth,  generously  garnished  with  unpleasant  gossip, 
she  still  clung  to  her  belief  in  Harold  and  the  con- 
viction that  he  would  be  able  to  explain  everything 
when  she  saw  him.  Quin's  report  of  Madam's  offer 
to  send  her  to  New  York  was  received  in  non- 
committal silence.  She  would  agree  to  nothing,  she 

314 


QUIN  315 

declared,  until  she  saw  Harold,  her  only  concession 
being  that  she  would  stay  in  bed  until  the  after- 
noon and  not  see  him  before  evening. 

About  noon  a  messenger-boy  brought  her  a  box 
of  flowers  and  a  bulky  letter.  The  latter  had  evi- 
dently been  written  immediately  after  Harold's  talk 
with  Rose,  and  he  made  the  fatal  mistake  of  con- 
cluding, from  her  remarks,  that  Eleanor  had 
changed  her  mind  after  sending  the  telegram  and 
had  not  come  to  Chicago.  He  therefore  gave  free 
rein  to  his  imagination,  describing  in  burning 
rhetoric  how  he  had  received  her  message  Saturday 
night  just  as  he  was  retiring,  how  he  tossed  im- 
patiently on  his  bed  all  night,  and  rose  at  dawn  to 
be  at  the  station  when  the  train  came  in.  He  pic- 
tured vividly  his  ecstasy  of  expectation,  his  futile 
search,  his  bitter  disappointment.  He  had  dropped 
everything,  he  declared,  to  take  the  next  train  to 
Kentucky  to  find  out  what  had  changed  her  plans, 
and  to  persuade  her  to  be  married  at  once  and  re- 
turn with  him  to  Chicago.  The  epistle  ended  with 
a  love  rhapsody  that  deserved  a  better  fate  than  to 
be  torn  into  shreds  and  consigned  to  the  waste- 
basket. 

"Tell  the  boy  not  to  wait!"  was  Eleanor's  furious 
instruction.  "Tell  him  there's  no  answer  now  or 
ever!" 

Then  she  pitched  the  flowers  after  the  note,  locked 


316  QUIN 

her  door,  and  refused  to  admit  any  one  for  the  rest 
of  the  day. 

After  that  her  one  desire  was  to  get  away.  She 
felt  utterly  humiliated,  disillusioned,  disgraced,  and 
her  sole  hope  for  peace  lay  in  the  further  humiliation 
of  accepting  Madam's  offer  and  trying  to  go  on  with 
her  work.  But  even  here  she  met  an  obstacle.  A 
letter  arrived  from  Papa  Claude,  saying  that  he 
would  not  be  able  to  get  possession  of  the  little 
apartment  until  December  first,  a  delay  that  ne- 
cessitated Eleanor's  remaining  with  the  Martels  for 
another  month. 

The  situation  was  a  delicate  and  a  difficult  one. 
Eleanor  was  more  than  willing  to  forgo  the  luxuries 
to  which  she  had  been  accustomed  and  was  even  will- 
ing to  share  Rose's  untidy  bedroom ;  but  the  knowl- 
edge that  she  was  adding  another  weight  to  Cass's 
already  heavy  burden  was  intolerable  to  her.  To 
make  things  worse,  she  was  besieged  with  notes 
and  visits  and  telephone  calls  from  various  emis- 
saries sent  out  by  her  grandmother. 

"I  '11  go  perfectly  crazy  if  they  don't  leave  me 
alone !"  she  declared  one  night  to  Quin.  "They  act 
as  if  studying  for  the  stage  were  the  wickedest 
thing  in  the  world.  Aunt  Isobel  was  here  all  morn- 
ing, harping  on  my  immortal  soul  until  I  almost 
hoped  I  did  n't  have  one.  This  afternoon  Aunt 
Flo  came  and  warned  me  against  getting  profes- 
sional notions  in  my  head,  and  talked  about  my 


QUIN  317 

social  position,  and  what  a  blow  it  would  be  to  the 
family.  Then,  to  cap  the  climax,  Uncle  Ranny 
had  the  nerve  to  telephone  and  urge  me  against  tak- 
ing any  step  that  would  break  my  grandmother's 
heart.  Uncle  Ranny!  Can  you  beat  that?" 

"I  'd  chuck  the  whole  bunch  for  a  while,"  was 
Quin's  advice.  "Why  don't  you  let  their  standards 
go  to  gallagher  and  live  up  to  your  own?" 

"That 's  what  I  want  to  do,  Quin,"  she  said 
earnestly.  "My  standards  are  just  as  good  as 
theirs,  every  bit.  I  've  got  terrifically  high  ideals. 
Nobody  knows  how  serious  I  feel  about  the  whole 
thing.  It  is  n't  just  a  silly  whim,  as  grandmother 
thinks ;  it 's  the  one  thing  in  the  world  I  care  about 
— now." 

Quin  started  to  speak,  reconsidered  it,  and  whis- 
tled softly  instead.  He  had  formed  a  Spartan  re- 
solve to  put  aside  his  own  claims  for  the  present,  and 
be  in  word  and  deed  that  "best  friend"  to  whom 
he  had  urged  Eleanor  to  come  in  time  of  trouble. 
With  heroic  self-control,  he  set  himself  to  meet  her 
problems,  even  going  so  far  as  to  encourage  her 
spirit  of  independence  and  to  help  her  build  air- 
castles  that  at  present  were  her  only  refuge  from 
despair. 

"Just  think  of  all  the  wonderful  things  I  can  do 
if  I  succeed,"  she  said.  "Papa  Claude  need  never 
take  another  pupil,  and  Myrna  can  go  to  college, 
and  Cass  and  Fan  Loomis  can  get  married." 


318  QUIN 

"And  don't  forget  Rose,"  suggested  Quin,  to  keep 
up  the  interest.  "You  must  do  something  hand- 
some for  her.  She 's  a  great  girl,  Rose  is !" 

Eleanor  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  the  small- 
est of  puckers  appeared  between  her  perfectly 
arched  brows.  Quin  saw  it  at  once,  and  decided 
that  Rose's  recent  handling  of  Mr.  Phipps  had  met 
with  disfavor,  and  he  sighed  as  he  thought  of  the 
hold  the  older  man  still  had  on  Eleanor. 

During  the  next  difficult  weeks  Quin  devoted  all 
his  spare  time  to  the  grateful  occupation  of  divert- 
ing the  Martels'  woe-begone  little  guest.  Hardly  a 
day  passed  that  he  did  not  suggest  some  excursion 
that  would  divert  her  without  bringing  her  into  con- 
tact with  her  own  social  world,  from  which  she 
shrank  with  aversion.  On  Sundays  and  half-holi- 
days he  took  her  on  long  trolley  rides  to  queer  out- 
of-the-way  places  where  she  had  never  been  before: 
to  Zachary  Taylor's  grave,  and  to  the  old  French 
burying  ground,  to  the  venerable  tree  in  Iroquois 
Park  that  bore  the  carved  inscription,  "D.  Boone, 
1715."  One  Sunday  morning  they  went  to  Shaw- 
nee  Park  and  rented  a  rowboat,  in  which  they  fol- 
lowed the  windings  of  the  Ohio  River  below  the 
falls,  and  had  innumerable  adventures  that  kept 
them  out  until  sundown. 

Eleanor  had  never  before  had  so  much  liberty. 
She  came  and  went  as  she  pleased;  and  if  she 
missed  a  meal  the  explanation  that  she  was  out 


QUIN  319 

with  Quin  was  sufficient.  Sometimes  when  the 
weather  was  good  she  would  walk  over  to  Central 
Park  and  meet  him  when  he  came  home  in 
the  evening.  They  would  sit  under  the  bare  trees 
and  talk,  or  look  over  the  books  he  had  brought  her 
from  the  library. 

At  first  she  had  found  his  selections  a  tame  sub- 
stitute for  her  recent  highly  spiced  literary  diet; 
but  before  long  she  began  to  take  a  languid  inter- 
est in  them.  They  invariably  had  to  do  with  out- 
door things — stars  and  flowers,  birds  and  beasts, 
and  adventures  in  foreign  lands. 

"Here's  a  jim-dandy!"  Quin  would  say  enthu- 
siastically. "It's  all  about  bees.  I  can't  pronounce 
the  guy  that  wrote  it,  but,  take  it  from  me,  he  's 
got  the  dope  all  right." 

It  was  in  the  long  hours  of  the  day,  when  Eleanor 
was  in  the  house  alone,  that  she  faced  her  dark- 
est problems.  She  had  been  burnt  so  badly  in  her 
recent  affair  that  she  wanted  nothing  more  to  do 
with  fire ;  yet  she  was  chilled  and  forlorn  without  it. 
With  all  her  courage  she  tried  to  banish  the  un- 
worthy image  of  Harold  Phipps,  but  his  melancholy 
eyes  still  exercised  their  old  potent  charm,  and  the 
memory  of  his  low,  insistent  tones  still  echoed  in 
her  ears.  She  came  to  the  tragic  conclusion  that 
she  was  the  victim  of  a  hopeless  infatuation  that 
would  follow  her  to  her  grave. 

So  obsessed  was  she  by  the  thought  of  her.  shat- 


320  QUIN 

tered  love  affair  that  she  failed  to  see  that  a 
troubled  conscience  was  equally  responsible  for  her 
restlessness.  Her  life-long  training  in  acquiescence 
and  obedience  was  at  grips  with  her  desire  to  live 
her  own  life  in  her  own  way.  She  had  not  realized 
until  she  made  the  break  how  much  she  cared  for 
the  family  approval,  how  dependent  she  was  on  the 
family  advice  and  assistance,  how  hideous  it  was 
to  make  people  unhappy.  Now  that  she  was  about 
to  obtain  her  freedom,  she  was  afraid  of  it.  Sup- 
pose she  did  not  make  good?  Suppose  she  had  no 
talent,  after  all?  Suppose  Papa  Claude  was  as 
visionary  about  her  career  as  he  was  about  every- 
thing else?  At  such  times  a  word  of  discourage- 
ment would  have  broken  her  spirit  and  sent  her  back 
to  bondage. 

"Would  you  go  on  with  it?"  she  asked  Quin, 
time  and  again. 

"Sure,"  said  Quin  stoutly;  "you  '11  never  be  satis- 
fied until  you  try  it  out." 

"But  suppose  I  'm  a  failure?" 

"Well,  then  you  've  got  it  out  of  your  system,  and 
won't  have  to  go  through  life  thinking  about  the 
big  success  you  'd  have  been  if  you  'd  just  had  your 
chance." 

She  was  not  satisfied  with  his  answer,  but  it 
had  to  suffice.  While  he  never  discouraged  her, 
she  felt  that  he  shared  the  opinion  of  the  family 


QUIN  321 

that  her  ambition  was  a  caprice  to  be  indulged  and 
got  rid  of,  the  sooner  the  better. 

The  first  day  of  December  brought  word  from 
Claude  Martel  that  the  apartment  was  ready. 
Eleanor  left  on  twenty-four  hours'  notice,  and  it 
required  the  combined  efforts  of  both  families  to 
get  her  off.  She  had  refused  up  to  the  last  to  see 
her  grandmother,  but  had  yielded  to  united  pres- 
sure and  written  a  stiff  good-by  note  in  which  she 
thanked  her  for  advancing  the  money,  and  added — 
not  without  a  touch  of  bitterness — that  it  would  all 
be  spent  for  the  purpose  intended. 

Randolph  Bartlett  took  her  to  the  station  in  his 
car,  and  Miss  Isobel  met  them  there  with  a  suit-case 
full  of  articles  that  she  feared  Eleanor  had  failed 
to  provide. 

"I  put  in  some  overshoes,"  she  said,  fluttering 
about  like  a  distracted  hen  whose  adopted  duckling 
unexpectedly  takes  to  water.  "I  also  fixed  up  a 
medicine-case  and  a  sewing  basket.  I  knew  you 
would  never  think  of  them.  And,  dear,  I  know 
how  you  hate  heavy  underwear,  but  pneumonia  is 
so  prevalent.  You  must  promise  me  not  to  take 
cold  if  you  can  possibly  avoid  it." 

Eleanor  promised.  Somehow,  Aunt  Isobel,  with 
her  anxious  face  and  her  reddened  eyelids,  had 
never  seemed  so  pathetic  before. 

"I  '11  write  to  you,  auntie,"  she  said  reassuringly ; 
"and  you  must  n't  worry." 


322  QUIN 

"Don't  write  to  me,"  whispered  Miss  Isobel 
tremulously.  "Write  to  mother.  Just  a  line  now 
and  then  to  let  her  know  you  think  of  her.  She  's 
quite  feeble,  Nellie,  and  she  talks  about  you  from 
morning  until  night." 

Eleanor's  face  hardened.  She  evidently  did  cot 
enjoy  imagining  the  nature  of  Madam's  discourse. 
However,  she  squeezed  Aunt  Isobel's  hand  and  said 
she  would  write. 

Then  Quin  arrived  with  the  ticket  and  the  bag- 
gage-checks, the  train  was  called,  and  Eleanor  was 
duly  embraced  and  wept  over. 

"We  won't  go  through  the  gates,"  said  Mr. 
Ranny,  with  consideration  for  Miss  Isobel's  tearful 
condition.  "Quin  will  get  you  aboard  all  right. 
Good-by,  kiddie!" 

Eleanor  stumbled  after  Quin  with  many  a  back- 
ward glance.  Both  Aunt  Isobel  and  Uncle  Ranny 
seemed  to  have  acquired  haloes  of  kindness  and  af- 
fection, and  she  felt  like  a  selfish  ingrate.  She 
looked  at  the  lunch-box  in  her  hand,  and  thought  of 
Rose  rising  at  dawn  to  fix  it  before  she  went  to 
work.  She  remembered  the  little  gifts  Cass  and 
Myrna  and  Edwin  had  slipped  in  her  bag.  How 
good  they  had  all  been  to  her,  and  how  she  was 
going  to  miss  them !  Now  that  she  was  actually  em- 
barked on  her  great  adventure,  a  terrible  misgiving 
seized  her. 

"Train  starts  in  two  minutes,  boss!"  warned  the 


QUIN  323 

porter,  as  Quin  helped  Eleanor  aboard  and  piloted 
her  to  her  seat. 

"You  could  n't  hold  it  up  for  half  an  hour,  could 
you?"  asked  Quin.  Then,  as  he  glanced  down 
and  met  Eleanor's  eyes  brimming  with  all  those 
recent  tendernesses,  his  carefully  practised  stoicism 
received  a  frightful  jolt. 

As  the  "All  aboard!"  sounded,  she  clutched  his 
sleeve  in  sudden  panic. 

"Oh,  Quin,  I  know  I  'm  going  to  be  horribly 
lonesome  and  homesick.  I — I  wish  you  were  going 
too!" 

"All  right!    I '11  go!    Why  not?" 

"But  you  can't!  I  was  fooling.  You  must  get 
off  this  instant!" 

"May  I  come  on  later?     Say  in  the  spring?" 

"Yes,  yes!  But  get  off  now!  Quick,  we  are 
moving !" 

She  had  almost  to  push  him  down  the  aisle  and 
off  the  steps.  Then,  as  the  train  gained  speed,  in- 
stead of  looking  forward  to  the  wide  fields  of  free- 
dom stretching  before  her,  she  looked  wistfully 
back  to  the  disconsolate  figure  on  the  platform,  and, 
with  a  sigh  that  was  half  for  him  and  half  for  her- 
self, she  lifted  her  fingers  to  her  lips  and  rashly 
Uew  him  a  good-by  kiss., 


CHAPTER  28 

THAT  aerial  kiss  proved  more  intoxicating  to 
Quin  than  all  the  more  tangible  ones  he  had 
ever  received.  It  sent  him  swaggering  through  the 
next  few  months  with  his  head  in  the  air  and  his 
heart  on  fire.  Nothing  could  stop  him  now,  he  told 
himself  boastfully.  Old  Bangs  was  showing  him 
signal  favor,  Madam  Bartlett  was  his  staunch 
friend,  Mr.  Ranny  and  the  aunties  were  his  allies, 
and  even  if  Miss  Nell  didn't  care  for  him  yet,  she 
didn't  care  for  anybody  else,  and  when  a  girl  like 
Miss  Nell  looks  at  a  fellow  the  way  she  had  looked 
at  him 

At  this  rapturous  point  he  invariably  abandoned 
cold  prose  for  poetry  and  burst  into  song. 

Almost  every  week  brought  him  a  letter  from 
Eleanor — not  the  romantic,  carefully  penned  epis- 
tles she  had  indited  to  Harold  Phipps,  but  hasty 
scrawls  often  dashed  off  with  a  pencil.  In  them 
she  described  her  absurd  attempts  at  housekeeping  in 
the  little  two-room  apartment;  her  absorbing  ex- 
periences in  the  dramatic  school;  all  the  ups  and 
downs  of  her  wonderful  new  life.  She  was  evi- 
dently enjoying  her  freedom,  but  Quin  flattered 

324 


QUIN  325 

himself  that  between  the  lines  he  could  find  evi- 
dences of  discouragement,  of  homesickness,  and  of 
the  coming  disillusionment  on  which  he  was  count- 
ing to  bring  her  home  when  her  six  months  of 
study  were  over. 

It  was  only  when  Rose  read  him  Papa  Claude's 
lengthy  effusions  that  his  heart  misgave  him.  Papa 
Claude  announced  that  Eleanor  was  sweeping 
everything  before  her  at  the  dramatic  school,  where 
her  beauty  and  talent  were  causing  much  comment, 
and  that  he  had  not  been  mistaken  when  he  had 
foreseen  her  destiny,  and,  "single-handed  against 
the  world,"  forced  its  fulfilment. 

Usually,  upon  reading  one  of  Papa  Claude's  pyro- 
technical  efforts,  Quin  went  to  see  Madam  Bart- 
lett.  After  all,  he  and  the  old  lady  were  paddling 
in  the  same  canoe,  and  their  only  chance  of  success 
was  in  pulling  together. 

As  the  end  of  the  six  months  of  probation  ap- 
proached, Madam  became  more  and  more  anxious. 
Ever  since  Eleanor's  high-handed  departure  she  had 
been  undergoing  a  metamorphosis.  Like  most  auto- 
crats, the  only  things  of  which  she  took  notice  were 
the  ones  that  impeded  her  progress.  When  they 
proved  sufficiently  formidable  to  withstand  anni- 
hilation, she  awarded  them  the  respect  that  was 
their  due.  Eleanor's  childish  whim,  heretofore 
crushed  under  her  disapprobation,  now  loomed  as 
a  terrifying  possibility.  The  girl  had  proved  her 


326  QUIN 

mettle  by  living  through  the  winter  on  a  smaller 
allowance  than  Madam  paid  her  cook.  She  had 
shown  perseverance  and  pluck,  and  an  amazing 
ability  to  get  along  without  the  aid  of  the  family. 
In  a  few  months  she  would  be  of  age,  and  with 
the  small  legacy  left  her  by  her  spendthrift  father, 
would  be  in  a  position  to  snap  her  fingers  in  the 
face  of  authority. 

"If  it  were  n't  for  that  fool  Phipps  I  'd  have  her 
home  in  twenty- four  hours,"  Madam  declared  to 
Quin.  "She  '11  be  wanting  to  take  a  professional 
engagement  next." 

Quin  tried  to  reassure  her,  but  his  words  rang 
hollow.  He  too  was  growing  anxious  as  the  months 
passed  and  Eleanor  showed  no  sign  of  returning. 
He  longed  to  throw  his  influence  with  Madam's  in 
trying  to  induce  her  to  come  back  before  it  was  too 
late.  The  only  thing  that  deterred  him  was  his 
sense  of  fair  play  to  Eleanor. 

"You  let  Miss  Nell  work  it  out  for  herself,"  he 
advised;  "don't  threaten  her  or  persuade  her  or 
bribe  her.  Leave  her  alone.  She  's  got  more  com- 
mon sense  than  you  think.  I  bet  she  '11  get  enough 
of  it  by  May." 

"Well,  if  she  does  n't,  I  'm  through  with  her, 
and  you  can  tell  her  so.  I  meant  to  make  Eleanor 
a  rich  woman,  but,  mark  my  word,  if  she  goes  on 
the  stage  I  '11  rewrite  my  will  and  cut  her  off  with- 
out a  penny.  I  '11  even  entail  what  I  leave  Isobel 


QUIN  327 

and   Enid.     I  '11  make  her  sorry   for  what   she  's 
done!" 

But  with  the  approach  of  spring  it  was  Madam 
who  was  sorry  and  not  Eleanor.  Quin's  sympathies 
were  roused  every  time  he  saw  the  old  lady.  Her 
affection  and  anxiety  fought  constantly  against  her 
pride  and  bitterness.  For  hours  at  a  time  she  would 
talk  to  him  about  Eleanor,  hungrily  snatching  at 
every  crumb  of  news,  and  yet  refusing  to  pen  a  line 
of  conciliation. 

"If  she  can  do  without  me,  I  can  do  without  her," 
she  would  say  stubbornly. 

Quin's  business  brought  him  to  the  Bartlett  home 
oftener  than  usual  these  days.  For  twenty  years 
Madam  and  Mr.  Bangs,  as  partners  in  the  firm  of 
Bartlett  &  Bangs,  had  tried  to  run  in  opposite  direc- 
tions on  the  same  track,  with  the  result  that  head- 
on  collisions  were  of  frequent  occurrence.  Since 
Randolph  Bartlett's  retirement  from  the  firm,  Quin 
had  succeeded  him  as  official  switchman,  and  had 
proven  himself  an  adept.  His  skill  in  handling  the 
old  lady  was  soon  apparent  to  Mr.  Bangs,  who  lost 
no  time  in  utilizing  it. 

One  afternoon  in  April,  when  Quin  was  busily 
employed  at  his  desk,  his  eyes  happened  to  fall  upon 
a  calendar,  the  current  date  of  which  was  circled  in 
red  ink.  The  effect  of  the  discovery  was  immediate. 
His  energetic  mood  promptly  gave  way  to  one  of 


328  QUIN 

extreme  languor,  and  his  gaze  wandered  from  the 
papers  in  his  hand  across  the  grimy  roof  tops. 

This  time  last  year  he  and  Miss  Nell  had  made 
their  first  pilgrimage  to  Valley  Mead.  It  was  just 
such  a  day  as  this,  warm  and  lazy,  with  big  white 
clouds  loafing  off  there  in  the  west.  He  wondered 
if  the  peach  trees  were  in  bloom  now,  and  whether 
the  white  violets  were  coming  up  along  the  creek- 
bank.  How  happy  and  contented  Miss  Nell  always 
seemed  in  the  country!  She  had  never  known  be- 
fore what  the  outdoor  life  was  like.  How  he  would 
like  to  take  her  hunting  for  big  game  up  in  the 
Maine  woods,  or  camping  out  in  the  Canadian 
Rockies  with  old  Cherokee  Jo  for  a  guide !  Or  bet- 
ter still, — here  his  fancy  bolted  completely, — if  he 
could  only  slip  with  her  aboard  a  transport  and  make 
a  thirty  days'  voyage  through  the  South  Seas ! 

It  was  at  this  transcendent  stage  of  his  reveries 
that  a  steely  voice  at  his  elbow  observed : 

"You  seem  to  be  finding  a  great  deal  to  interest 
you  in  that  smokestack,  young  man!" 

Quin  descended  from  his  height  with  brisk  em- 
barrassment. 

"Anything  you  wanted,  sir?"  he  asked. 

Mr.  Bangs  looked  about  cautiously  to  make  sure 
that  nobody  was  in  ear-shot,  then  he  said  abruptly: 

"I  want  you  to  come  out  to  my  place  with  me  for 
overnight.  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

Quin's  amazement  at  this   request  wras   so  pro- 


QUIN  329" 

found  that  for  a  moment  he  did  not  answer.  Sur- 
mises as  to  the  nature  of  the  business  ranged  from 
summary  dismissal  to  acceptance  into  the  firm. 
Never  in  his  experience  at  the  factory  had  any  em- 
ployee been  recognized  unofficially  by  Mr.  Bangs. 
To  all  appearances,  he  lived  in  a  large  limousine 
which  deposited  him  at  the  office  at  exactly  eight- 
thirty  and  collected  him  again  on  the  stroke  of  four. 
Rumor  hinted,  however,  that  he  owned  a  place  in 
the  suburbs,  and  that  the  establishment  was  one  that 
did  not  invite  publicity. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  Quin.  "What  time  shall  I 
be  ready?" 

"We  will  start  at  once,"  said  Mr.  Bangs,  leading 
the  way  to  the  door. 

On  the  drive  out,  Quin's  efforts  at  conversation 
met  with  small  encouragement.  Mr.  Bangs  re- 
sponded only  when  he  felt  like  it,  and  did  not  scruple 
to  leave  an  observation,  or  even  a  question,  perma- 
nently suspended  in  an  embarrassing  silence.  Quin 
soon  found  it  much  more  interesting  to  commune 
with  himself.  It  was  exciting  to  conjecture  what 
was  about  to  happen,  and  what  effect  it  would  have 
on  his  love  affair.  If  he  got  a  raise,  would  he  be 
justified  in  putting  his  fate  to  the  test?  All  spring 
he  had  fought  the  temptation  of  going  to  New  York 
in  the  hope  that  by  waiting  he  would  have  more 
to  offer.  If  by  any  miracle  of  grace  Miss  Nell  should 
yield  him  the  slightest  foothold,  he  must  be  prepared 


33o  QUIN 

to  storm  the  citadel  and  take  possession  at  once. 

The  abrupt  turn  of  the  automobile  into  a  somber 
avenue  of  locusts  recalled  him  to  the  present,  and  he 
looked  about  him  curiously.  Mr.  Bangs  had  not 
been  satisfied  to  build  his  habitation  far  from  town ; 
he  had  taken  the  added  precaution  to  place  it  a  mile 
back  from  the  road.  It  was  a  somewhat  preten- 
tious modern  house,  half  hidden  by  a  high  hedge. 
The  window-shades  were  drawn,  the  doors  were 
closed.  The  only  signs  of  life  about  the  place  were 
a  porch  chair,  still  rocking  as  if  from  recent  occu- 
pation, and  a  thin  blue  scarf  that  had  evidently 
been  dropped  in  sudden  flight. 

Mr.  Bangs  let  himself  in  with  a  latch-key,  and  led 
the  way  into  a  big  dreary  room  that  was  evidently 
meant  for  a  library.  A  handsome  suite  of  regulation 
mahogany  furniture  did  its  best  to  justify  the 
room's  claim  to  its  title,  but  rows  of  empty  book- 
shelves yawned  derision  at  the  pretense. 

Mr.  Bangs  lit  the  electrolier,  and,  motioning  Quin 
to  a  chair,  sat  down  heavily.  Now  that  he  had 
achieved  a  guest,  he  seemed  at  a  loss  to  know  what 
to  do  with  him. 

"Do  you  play  chess?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"I  can  play  'most  anything,"  Quin  boasted. 
"Poker's  my  specialty." 

For  an  hour  they  bent  over  the  chess-board,  and 
Quin  was  conscious  of  those  piercing  black  eyes 
studying  him  and  grimly  approving  when  he  made 


QUIN  331 

a  good  play.  For  the  first  time,  he  began  to  rather 
like  Mr.  Bangs,  and  to  experience  a  thrill  of  satis- 
faction in  winning  his  good  opinion. 

Only  once  was  the  game  interrupted.  The  colored 
chauffeur  who  had  driven  them  out  came  to  the 
door  and  asked: 

"Shall  I  lay  the  table  for  two  or  three,  sir?" 

Mr.  Bangs  lifted  his  head  long  enough  to  give 
him  one  annihilating  glance. 

"I  have  but  one  guest,"  he  said  significantly.  "Set 
the  table  for  two." 

The  dinner  was  one  of  the  best  Quin  had  ever 
tasted,  and  his  frank  enjoyment  of  it,  and  franker 
comment,  seemed  further  to  ingratiate  him  with  Mr. 
.Bangs,  who  waxed  almost  agreeable  in  discussing 
the  various  viands. 

After  dinner  they  returned  to  the  library  and  lit 
their  cigars,  and  Quin  waited  hopefully. 

This  time  he  was  not  to  be  disappointed. 

"Graham,"  said  Mr.  Bangs,  "what  salary  are  you 
drawing?" 

"One  hundred  and  fifty,  sir." 

"How  long  have  you  been  at  the  factory  ?" 

"A  year  last  February." 

"Not  so  long  as  I  thought.  You  are  satisfied,  I 
take  it?" 

Quin  saw  his  chance  and  seized  it. 

"It 's  all  right  until  I  can  get  something  better." 

Mr.  Bangs  relit  his  cigar,  and  took  his  time  about 


332  QUIN 

it.  Then  he  blew  out  the  match  and  threw  it  on  the 
floor. 

"I  am  looking  for  a  new  traffic  manager,"  he 
said. 

"What 's  the  matter  with  Mr.  Shields  ?"  Quin  in- 
quired in  amazement. 

"I  have  fired  him.  He  talks  too  much.  I  want 
a  man  to  manage  traffic,  not  to  superintend  a  Sun- 
day-school." 

"But  Mr.  Shields  has  been  there  for  years !" 

"That 's  the  trouble.  I  want  a  younger  man — one 
who  is  abreast  of  the  times,  familiar  with  modern 
methods." 

Quin's  heart  leaped  within  him.  Could  Mr.  Bangs 
be  intimating  that  he,  Quinby  Graham,  with  one 
year  and  four  months'  experience,  might  step  over 
the  heads  of  all  of  those  older  and  more  experienced 
aspirants  into  the  empty  shoes  of  the  former  traffic 
manager  ? 

The  South  Seas  seemed  to  flow  just  around  the 
corner. 

"I  have  been  considering  the  matter,"  continued 
Mr.  Bangs,  catching  a  white  moth  between  his  thumb 
and  forefinger  and  taking  apparent  pleasure  in  its 
annihilation,  "and  I  've  decided  not  to  get  a  new 
man  in  for  the  summer,  but  to  let  you  take  the  work 
for  the  present  and  see  what  you  can  do  with  it." 

Quin's  joy  was  so  swift  and  sudden  that  even 


QUIN  333 

the  formidable  banks  of  Mr.  Bangs's  presence  could 
not  keep  it  from  overflowing. 

"I  can  handle  it  as  easy  as  falling  off  a  log!"  he 
cried  excitedly.  "I  know  every  State  in  the  Union 
and  then  some.  Of  course,  I  hate  to  see  old  Shields 
go,  but  he  is  a  slow-coach.  I  '11  put  it  all  over  him ! 
You '11  see  if  I  don't!" 

"I  am  not  so  sure  about  that,"  said  Mr.  Bangs. 
"Shields  had  the  sense  to  do  what  he  was  told  with- 
out arguing  the  matter." 

Quin  laughed  joyously.  "Right  you  are!"  he 
agreed.  "I  'd  have  come  out  of  the  service  with  a 
couple  of  bars  on  my  shoulders  if  I  had  n't  argued 
so  much.  I  don't  know  what  gets  into  me,  but  when 
I  see  a  better  way  of  running  things  I  just  have  to 
say  so." 

"Well,  I  don't  want  you  to  say  so  to  me,"  warned 
Mr.  Bangs.  "There  are  certain  business  methods 
that  we  Ve  got  to  observe,  whether  we  like  them  or 
not.  Take  the  matter  of  listing  freight,  for  instance. 
That 's  where  Shields  fell  down.  He  knows  per- 
fectly well  that  there  is  n't  a  successful  firm  in  the 
country  that  does  n't  classify  its  stuff  under  the  head 
that  calls  for  the  lowest  freight  rates." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

Mr.  Bangs  proceeded  to  explain,  concluding  his 
remarks  with  the  observation  that  you  could  n't  af- 
ford to  be  too  particular  in  these  matters. 

"But  it  is  beating  the  railroads,  isn't  it?" 


334  QUIN 

"The  railroads  can  afford  it.  They  lose  no  chance 
to  gouge  the  manufacturers.  It 's  like  taxes.  The 
government  knows  that  everybody  is  going  to  dodge 
them,  and  so  it  allows  for  it.  Nobody  is  deceived, 
and  nobody  is  the  worse  for  it.  Human  nature  is 
what  it  is,  and  you  can't  change  it." 

"Does  the  traffic  manager  have  to  classify  the  ex- 
ports?" Quin  asked. 

"Certainly;  that  and  routing  the  cars  is  his  prin- 
cipal business.  It 's  a  difficult  and  responsible  posi- 
tion in  many  ways,  and  I  have  my  doubts  about  your 
being  able  to  fill  it." 

"I  can  fill  it  all  right,"  said  Quin,  as  confidently 
as  before,  but  with  a  certain  loss  of  enthusiasm. 
Upon  the  shining  brows  of  his  great  opportunity  he 
had  spied  the  incipient  horns  of  a  dilemma. 

For  the  next  two  hours  Mr.  Bangs  explained  in 
detail  the  duties  of  the  new  position,  going  into  each 
phase  of  the  matter  with  such  efficient  thoroughness 
that  Quin  forgot  his  scruples  in  his  absorbed  interest 
in  the  recital.  It  was  no  wonder,  he  said  to  him- 
self, that  Mr.  Bangs  was  one  of  the  most  successful 
manufacturers  in  the  South.  A  man  who  was  not 
only  an  executive  and  administrator,  but  who  could 
make  with  his  own  hands  the  most  complicated 
farming  implement  in  his  factory,  was  one  to  com- 
mand respect.  Even  if  he  did  not  like  him  person- 
ally, it  was  a  great  thing  to  work  under  him,  to  have 
his  approval,  to  be  trusted  by  him. 


QUIN  335 

When  Quin  went  up  to  his  room  at  eleven  o'clock, 
his  head  was  whirling  with  statistics  and  other  new- 
ly acquired  facts,  which  he  spent  an  hour  recording 
in  his  note-book. 

It  was  not  until  he  went  to  bed  and  lay  staring 
into  the  darkness  that  the  mental  tumult  subsided 
and  the  moral  tumult  began.  The  questions  that  he 
had  resolutely  kept  in  abeyance  all  evening  began 
to  dance  in  impish  insistence  before  him.  What  right 
had  he  to  take  Shields's  place,  when  he  had  said  ex- 
actly the  things  that  Shields  had  been  fired  for  say- 
ing? Did  he  want  to  go  the  way  Shields  had  gone, 
compromising  with  his  conscience  in  order  to  keep 
his  job,  ashamed  to  face  his  fellow  man,  cringing, 
remorseful,  unhappy? 

Then  Mr.  Bangs's  arguments  came  back  to  him, 
specious,  practical,  convincing.  Business  was  like 
politics;  you  could  keep  out  if  you  didn't  like  it, 
but  if  you  went  in  you  must  play  the  game  as  others 
played  it  or  lose  out.  Five  hundred  a  month !  Why, 
a  fellow  would  n't  be  ashamed  to  ask  even  a  rich 
girl  to  marry  him  on  that!  The  thought  was  balm 
to  his  pride. 

As  he  lay  there  thinking,  he  was  conscious  of  a 
disturbing  sound  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  he 
lifted  his  head  to  listen.  It  sounded  like  some  one 
crying — not  a  violent  outburst,  but  the  hopeless, 
steady  sobbing  of  despair.  His  thoughts  flew  back 
to  that  blue  scarf  on  the  porch,  to  the  inquiry  about 


336  QUIN 

an  extra  seat  at  the  table.  They  were  true,  then, 
those  rumors  about  the  lonely,  unhappy  woman 
whom  Mr.  Bangs  had  kept  a  virtual  prisoner  for 
years.  Quin  wondered  if  she  was  young,  if  she  was 
pretty.  A  fierce  sympathy  for  her  seized  him  as  he 
listened  to  her  sobs  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall. 
What  a  beast  a  man  was  to  put  a  woman  in  a  posi- 
tion like  that ! 

His  wrath,  thus  kindled,  threw  Mr.  Bangs's  other 
characteristics  into  startling  relief.  He  saw  him  at 
the  head  of  his  firm,  hated  and  despised  by  every 
employee.  He  saw  him  deceiving  Madam  Bartlett, 
sneering  at  Mr.  Ranny's  efforts  at  reform,  terroriz- 
ing little  Miss  Leaks.  Then  he  had  a  swift  and  re- 
lentless vision  of  himself  in  his  new  position,  a  well 
trained  automaton,  expected  to  execute  Mr.  Bangs's 
orders  not  only  in  the  factory  but  in  the  Bartlett 
household  as  well. 

He  tossed  restlessly  on  his  pillow.  If  only  that 
woman  would  stop  crying,  perhaps  he  could  get  a 
better  line  on  the  thing!  But  she  did  not  stop,  and 
somehow  while  she  cried  he  could  see  nothing  good 
in  Bangs  or  what  he  stood  for.  Hour  after  hour 
his  ambition  and  his  love  fought  against  his  prin- 
ciples, and  dawn  found  him  still  awake,  staring  at 
the  ceiling. 

Going  back  to  town  after  an  early  breakfast,  he 
said  to  Mr.  Bangs : 


QUIN  337 

"I  Ve  been  thinking  it  over,  sir,  and  if  you  don't 
mind  I  think  I  '11  keep  the  position  I  Ve  got." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Mr.  Bangs. 
"You  decline  the  promotion?" 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  not  the  man  for  the  job,"  said 
Quin. 

"That's  for  me  to  decide." 

Quin  was  visibly  embarrassed.  After  his  enthusi- 
asm of  the  night  before,  his  present  attitude  called 
for  an  explanation. 

"Well,  you  see,"  he  said  awkwardly,  "it  may  be 
good  business  and  all  that,  but  there  are  some  things 
a  fellow  can't  do  when  he  feels  about  them  the  way 
I  do." 

"Meaning,  I  suppose,  that  your  standards  are  so 
much  higher  than  those  of  the  rest  of  us  that  you 
cannot  trade  in  the  market-place?" 

"No,  sir;  I  don't  mean  anything  of  the  kind," 
.Quin  flashed  back,  hot  at  the  accusations  of  self- 
righteousness,  but  unable  to  defend  himself  without 
criticizing  his  employer. 

"And  this  is  final?    You've  definitely  decided?" 

"I  have." 

"Very  well;  I  am  through  with  you."  And  Mr. 
Bangs  unfolded  his  newspaper  and  read  it  the  rest 
of  the  way  to  the  city. 

At  the  office  door  he  was  dismounting  from  the 
car  with  his  silence  still  unbroken,  when  Quin  asked 
nervously : 


338  QUIN 

"Shall  I  go  on  with  my  old  job,  sir?" 

Mr.  Bangs  wheeled  upon  him,  his  eyes  like  fiery 
gimlets. 

"No !"  he  thundered.  "You  need  n't  go  on  with 
anything!  For  six  months  I  have  wasted  time  try- 
ing to  teach  you  something  about  business.  I  've 
pushed  you  along  faster  than  your  ability  war- 
ranted. I  Ve  given  you  a  chance  to  quadruple  your 
salary.  And  what  is  the  result?  You  give  me  a 
lot  of  hot  air  about  your  conscience.  Why  don't 
you  get  a  soap-box  and  preach  on  the  street-corners  ? 
You  can  draw  your  money  and  go.  There  is  no  room 
on  my  pay-roll  for  angels!" 

And,  with  a  contemptuous  shrug,  he  passed  into 
the  factory,  leaving  Quin  standing  dazed  and  ap- 
palled on  the  sidewalk. 


CHAPTER  29 

AS  long  as  a  man  can  see  his  goal  shining,  how- 
ever faint  and  distant,  he  will  steer  his  craft 
with  tolerable  reason  and  patience;  but  let  the 
beacon-light  be  extinguished,  and  he  promptly 
abandons  reason  and  rashly  trusts  to  instinct  to 
guide  him. 

Quin,  who  had  resolutely  kept  his  course  as  long 
as  he  had  been  sure  of  his  steady  progress  toward 
success,  lost  his  head  completely  at  this  sudden  col- 
lapse of  his  hopes,  and  took  the  first  train  for  New 
•York.  A  sudden  mad  necessity  was  upon  him  to 
see  Eleanor  at  once.  One  look  of  encouragement, 
one  word  of  hope  from  her,  and  he  would  rush  back 
to  port  and  gladly  begin  the  voyage  all  over  again. 

He  arrived  at  the  Eighty-second  Street  apart- 
ment about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and,  after 
studying  the  dingy  name-plates,  took  the  five  flights 
of  stairs  with  uncommendable  speed,  and  presented 
himself  at  the  rear  door  on  the  sixth  floor. 

As  he  waited  for  an  answer  to  his  ring,  he  won- 
dered if  he  had  not  made  a  mistake  about  the  name 
on  the  door-plate.  The  narrow  dark  hall,  permeated 
with  a  smell  of  onions  and  cabbage,  was  all  too  fa- 

339 


340  QUIN 

miliar  to  him,  but  it  was  not  at  all  the  proper  set- 
ting for  Eleanor.  His  bewilderment  increased  when 
the  door  was  opened  by  a  white-aproned  figure,  who 
after  a  moment  of  blank  amazement  seized  his  hand 
in  boths  of  hers  and  pressed  it  rapturously. 

At  least,  that  was  what  Quin  imagined  took  place ; 
but  when,  a  moment  later,  he  sat  opposite  a  com- 
posed young  lady  who  had  removed  her  impulse 
with  her  apron,  he  knew  that  he  must  have  been 
mistaken.  She  was  still  his  adored  Miss  Nell,  but 
with  a  difference  that  carried  her  leagues  away  from 
him.  He  knew  how  to  cope  with  the  hot-headed, 
rebellious  Miss  Nell;  with  the  teasing,  indifferent, 
provocative  Miss  Nell;  and  even  with  the  discon- 
solate little  Miss  Nell  who  had  wept  against  his 
shoulder  coming  home  from  Chicago.  But  in  the 
presence  of  this  beautiful,  grown-up,  self-contained 
young  lady  he  felt  thoroughly  awkward  and  ill  at 
ease.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  warmth  of  her  smile 
and  the  eagerness  with  which  she  plied  him  with 
questions,  his  courage  would  have  failed  him  utterly. 

"Now  tell  me  all  about  everything!"  she  urged. 
"You  are  the  first  human  being  I  Ve  seen  from 
home  for  four  mortal  months.  How  's  everybody  at 
grandmother's  ?  Has  Aunt  Enid  come  home  ?  How 
are  Rose  and  the  children?" 

"One  at  a  time!"  protested  Quin.  "Tell  me  first 
about  yourself.  What  sort  of  a  place  is  this  you  are 
living  in?" 


QUIN  341 

"You  must  n't  criticize  our  suite !"  she  said  gaily. 
"This  is  a  combination  bedroom,  dining-room,  and 
kitchen.  I  am  the  cook  and  housemaid,  and  Papa 
Claude  is  the  butler.  You  ought  to  see  the  way  I  've 
learned  to  cook  on  the  chafing-dish!" 

Quin  was  not  in  the  least  interested  in  her  culi- 
nary accomplishments.  It  offended  his  sense  of  the 
proprieties  to  see  his  divinity  reduced  to  such  neces- 
sities, and  he  did  not  at  all  approve  of  her  surround- 
ings. 

"When  are  you  coming  home?"  he  asked 
abruptly. 

Eleanor's  eyes  dropped. 

"That  depends.  I  may  be  here  all  summer.  I  've 
had  an  engagement  offered  me." 

Quin's  hands  grew  cold.  "You  don't  mean  that 
you're  going  to  act  for  pay?" 

"Of  course.  Why  not?  That's  what  I  've  been 
working  for." 

"But  I  thought  when  you  tried  it  out  that  you 
would  change  your  mind — that  you  wouldn't  like 
it  as  much  as  you  thought  you  would." 

"But  I  do.  I  adore  it!  Nothing  on  earth  can 
ever  make  me  give  it  up !" 

Quin's  heart  sank.  "But  I  thought  you  'd  had 
enough,"  he  said.  "I  thought  you  were  homesick 
and  lonesome." 

"Who  wouldn't  have  been?     Look  at  the  way 


342  QUIN 

they  have  treated  me  at  home  ?  Do  you  know,  none 
of  them  ever  write  to  me  any  more?" 

Quin  tried  not  to  look  guilty,  but  the  fact  that 
he  had  counseled  this  course  of  discipline  weighed 
upon  him. 

"Haven't  I  written  enough  for  the  family?"  he 
asked. 

But  she  was  not  to  be  put  off. 

"They  treat  me  as  if  I  had  done  something  dis- 
graceful!" she  said  indignantly.  "My  allowance  is 
just  half  what  it  used  to  be,  and  yet  I  have  to  pay 
all  my  own  expenses.  As  for  clothes,  I  never  was 
so  shabby  in  my  life.  But  I  can  stand  that.  It 's 
grandmother's  silence  that  I  resent.  How  can  she 
pretend  to  care  for  me  when  she  ignores  my  letters 
and  treats  me  with  perfect  indifference?" 

Hurt  pride  quivered  through  the  anger  in  her 
voice,  and  she  looked  at  Quin  appealingly.  Stung 
by  his  silence,  she  burst  out  afresh : 

"Does  n't  she  ever  ask  about  me  ?  Has  she  let 
me  go  for  good  and  all?" 

"Was  n't  that  what  you  wanted?" 

"You  know  it  was  n't !  I  did  everything  to  get 
her  consent.  I  'd — I  'd  give  anything  now  if  she 
would  look  at  things  differently.  Do  you  think, 
when  she  finds  out  that  I  am  actually  on  the  stage, 
that  she  will  ever  forgive  me — that  she  will  ever 
want  me  to  come  home  again?" 

That  was  the  moment  when  Quin  should  have 


QUIN  343 

delivered  Madam's  ultimatum;  but,  before  he  had 
the  chance,  a  key  was  turned  in  the  lock,  and  the 
next  instant  Claude  Martel's  effulgent  presence  filled 
the  room. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  poised  lightly,  con- 
sciously, his  cane  and  gloves  in  one  hand,  and  his' 
soft  felt  hat  turned  gracefully  across  the  other.  On 
his  ankles  were  immaculate  white  spats,  and  in  his 
buttonhole  blossomed  the  inevitable  rose. 

"Quinby  Graham!"  he  cried  in  accents  of  rap- 
ture. "My  Cassius's  beloved  Quin!  My  beloved 
Quin !  What  happy  fortune  blew  you  hither  ?  But 
no  matter.  You  are  here — you  are  ours.  Eleanor 
and  I  are  going  out  to  a  studio  party  at  a  dear,  dear 
friend's.  You  shall  accompany  us!" 

"Oh,  no,  Papa  Claude,"  protested  Eleanor.  "Quin 
doesn't  want  to  go  to  Miss  Linton's  messy  old 
party.  Neither  do  I.  You  go  and  leave  us  here. 
There  are  a  million  things  I  want  to  ask  him." 

But  Papa  Claude  would  not  consider  it.  "You 
can  ask  them  to-morrow,"  he  said.  "To-night  I 
claim  you  both.  We  will  introduce  Quinby  as  one 
of  the  gallant  heroes  of  the  Great  War.  I  shall  tell 
his  story — no — he  shall  tell  it !  Come,  put  on  your 
hat,  Eleanor;  we  must  start  at  once." 

"But  here!  Hold  on!"  protested  Quin,  laughing 
and  freeing  himself  from  Papa  Claude's  encircling 
arm,  "I  'm  not  fixed  to  go  to  a  party,  and  I  have  n't 


344  QUIN 

got  any  story  to  tell.  I  '11  clear  out  and  come  back 
to-morrow." 

"No,  no!"  protested  Eleanor  and  Papa  Claude  in 
a  breath,  and  after  a  brief  struggle  for  supremacy 
the  latter  triumphantly  continued : 

"I  promise  you  shall  say  nothing,  if  you  prefer 
it.  Modesty  is  gallantry's  crowning  grace.  But  you 
must  accompany  us.  My  heart  is  set  upon  ite 
Eleanor  darling,  here  's  your  wrap.  Come,  Quinby, 
my  boy !"  And  the  dynamic  little  gentleman  hooked 
an  arm  through  each  of  theirs  and,  in  spite  of  their 
protests,  bore  them  triumphantly  'down  the  stairs 
and  off  to  the  party. 

It  was  not  until  they  had  boarded  a  crowded 
downtown  car  and  found  themselves  wedged  in  the 
aisle  that  Quin  and  Eleanor  managed  to  have 
another  word  alone. 

"It's  a  shame  we  had  to  come !"  she  pouted,  look- 
ing up  at  him  from  under  a  tilted  hat-brim  that 
supported  three  dangling  cherries. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  he  asked,  thrilled  by  the 
discovery  that  her  lips  and  the  cherries  matched. 

"To  a  studio  party  down  in  Washington  Square. 
Papa  Claude  is  trying  to  get  Estelle  Linton  to  play 
the  lead  in  'Phantom  Love.'  You  always  meet  all 
sorts  of  freaks  at  her  parties." 

"I  did  n't  come  to  New  York  to  meet  freaks." 

"What  did  you  come  for?" 

"Shall  I  tell  you?" 


QUIN  '345 

"Of  course — why  not?" 

"You  want  to  know?    Right  now?" 

He  was  looking  at  her  with  an  expression  that 
was  never  intended  to  be  worn  in  a  public  convey- 
ance, and  the  thin-faced  Polish  woman  on  whose 
toes  they  were  all  but  standing  looked  at  them  with 
such  lively  comprehension  that  Eleanor  felt  called 
upon  to  assume  her  most  haughty  and  dignified 
manner  for  the  rest  of  the  way. 

Miss  Linton's  party  was  in  full  swing  when  they 
arrived.  It  was  an  extremely  hilarious  party,  the 
interest  centering  about  a  fat  man  in  a  dress-suit, 
with  a  bath  towel  around  his  waist,  who  was  at- 
tempting to  distil  a  forbidden  elixir  from  an  ingen- 
ious condenser  of  his  own  invention. 

The  studio,  under  a  grimy  skylight,  was  cluttered 
with  bric-a-brac,  animate  and  inanimate.  A  Dai- 
butsu  in  a  gilded  shrine  dominated  one  corner, 
and  a  handsome  woman  in  a  Manchu  coat  and 
swinging  ear-rings  of  jade  held  court  in  another.  At 
sight  of  the  Martel  group  she  laid  down  the  small 
silver  pipe  she  was  smoking,  and  swam  toward 
them  through  a  cloud  of  incense  and  tobacco  smoke. 

"Dear  old  C.  M. !  Bless  his  heart!"  she  cried, 
kissing  Papa  Cloude  effusively.  Then  she  nodded 
good-naturedly  to  Eleanor,  and  held  out  a  welcom- 
ing hand  to  Quin. 

"Who  is  this  nice  boy?"  she  asked,  her  languid 
black  eyes  sweeping  his  face. 


346  QUIN 

"Allow  me  to  present  ex-Sergeant  Quinby 
Graham,"  said  Papa  Claude  impressively — "a  sol- 
dier of  whom  his  friends  and  his  country  have  every 
reason  to  be  proud." 

Then,  to  Quin's  utter  chagrin,  he  was  conscious 
of  the  fact  that  Papa  Claude  was  giving,  in  an  au- 
dible aside,  an  account  of  his  prowess  that  placed 
him  second  only  to  another  sergeant  whom  the  world 
acclaimed  its  chief  hero. 

"For  the  Lord's  sake,  head  him  off!"  he  whis- 
pered in  an  agony  of  embarrassment  to  Eleanor. 
"I  did  n't  do  half  those  things  he  's  telling  about,  and 
besides " 

But  it  was  too  late  to  interfere.  Papa  Claude, 
the  center  of  one  animated  group  after  another,  was 
kissing  his  way  through  the  crowd,  whispering  the 
news  as  he  went — that  the  guest  of  the  evening 
was  no  other  than  the  'distinguished  young  Graham 
whom  they  all  doubtless  remembered,  etc. 

Within  fifteen  minutes  Quin  found  himself  the 
lion  of  the  evening.  Even  the  fat  man  and  his  im- 
provised still  were  eclipsed  by  the  counter-attraction. 
His  very  earnestness  in  disclaiming  the  honors 
thrust  upon  him  added  enormously  to  his  popu- 
larity. The  more  clumsy  and  awkward  he  was,  and 
the  more  furiously  he  blushed  and  protested,  the 
more  attention  he  received. 

"So  naif!"     "So  perfectly  natural!"     "Nothing 


QUIN 

but  a.  boy,  and  yet  think  what  he  has  done!"  were 
phrases  heard  on  every  side. 

Papa  Qaude  corralled  him  in  the  corner  with  the 
Daibutsu  and  pompously  presented  each  guest  in 
turn.  Quin  felt  smothered  by  the  incense  and  the 
flattery.  His  collar  grew  tight,  perspiration  beaded 
his  brow,  and  he  began  to  cough. 

"Effects  of  mustard-gas,"  Papa  Claude  explained 
in  a  stage  whisper. 

For  seeming  hours  the  agony  endured,  until  the 
advent  of  refreshments  caused  a  momentary  diver- 
sion, and  he  made  a  hasty  bolt  for  Eleanor  and 
freedom. 

He  found  her  sitting  on  the  divan,  looking  rather 
bored  by  the  attentions  of  a  stout  elderly  person 
with  small  porcine  eyes  and  a  drooping  black  mus- 
tache. Without  troubling  to  apologize,  Quin  inter- 
rupted the  conversation  to  say  abruptly: 

"Miss  Nell,  I  am  going." 

Eleanor  started  to  rise,  but  the  red-faced  one 
lifted  a  protesting  voice. 

"See  here,  young  man,"  he  blustered.  "You  can't 
run  off  with  this  little  girl  just  when  I  've  got  my 
first  chance  at  her  this  evening.  She 's  going  to 
stay  right  here  and  let  me  make  love  to  her — is  n't 
she?" 

He  turned  a  confident  eye  upon  Eleanor,  and  even 
ventured  to  lay  a  plump  detaining  finger  on  her  cool, 
slim  wrist. 


348  QUIN 

Eleanor  rose  instantly. 

"I  thought  you  were  never  coming!"  she  said 
impatiently  over  the  stout  man's  head,  "I  Ve  been 
ready  to  go  for  an  hour!" 


CHAPTER  30 

DOWN  in  the  open  square,  under  the  clear  cool 
stars,  they  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed. 

"Lead  me  to  a  bus !"  cried  Quin.  "I  want  to  ride 
on  top  of  it  where  the  wind  can  blow  through  my 
whiskers.  My  head  feels  like  a  joss-house !" 

"Oh,  but  you  were  funny!"  cried  Eleanor.  "I 
wish  you  could  have  seen  your  face  when  all  those 
women  swarmed  around  you.  I  was  afraid  you 
were  going  to  jump  out  of  the  window!  Did  you 
ever  feel  anything  so  hot  and  stuffy  as  that  room? 
And  were  n't  they  all  silly  and  make-believe  ?" 

Quin  gave  a  mighty  sigh  of  relief  at  being  out  of 
it. 

"Is  this  the  sort  of  thing  you  get  let  in  for 
often?"  he  inquired,  aghast. 

"Oftener  than  I  like.  You  see,  all  those  people 
are  Papa  Claude's  old  friends,  and  he  's  been  having 
a  lovely  time  showing  me  off  as  he  showed  you  off 
to-night." 

"But  you  surely  don't  like  it?" 

"Of  course  I  don't.  And  they  know  it.  They  are 
already  calling  me  a  prig,  and  poking  fun  at  me 
for  not  smoking  and  for  not  liking  to  have  my 

349 


350  QUIN 

hands  patted  and  my  cheeks  pinched.  Is  n't  it  funny, 
Quin?  At  home  I  was  always  miserable  because 
there  were  too  many  barriers ;  I  wanted  to  tear  them 
all  down.  Here,  where  there  are  n't  any,  I  find 
myself  building  them  up  at  every  turn,  and  getting 
furious  when  people  climb  over  them." 

"Bartlett  versus  Martel,  eh?" 

"I  suppose  so.  Heaven  knows,  I  wish  I  were  one 
thing  or  the  other." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Quin.  "You  are  pretty 
nice  just  as  you  are."  Then  he  added  inconse- 
quently:  "Who  was  that  fat  man  you  were  talking 
to  when  I  came  up?" 

"Mr.  Pfingst.    He  is  Estelle  Linton's  backer." 

"Backer?"  queried  Ouin.  Then,  when  he  saw 
Eleanor's  eyes  drop,  he  added  vaguely :  "Oh !  I  see !" 

For  the  next  block,  strange  to  say,  he  did  not 
think  so  much  about  Eleanor  as  he  did  about  Miss 
Isobel  Bartlett.  The  whole  situation  kept  presenting 
itself  through  her  austere  eyes,  and  instinctively  he 
put  a  protecting  hand  on  Eleanor's  elbow. 

When  at  last  they  were  on  top  of  the  bus,  with 
the  big,  noisy  city  apparently  going  in  the  opposite 
direction,  they  promptly  forgot  all  about  the  studio 
party  and  plunged  headlong  into  their  own  im- 
portant affairs. 

"Begin  at  the  very  beginning,"  commanded 
Eleanor,  settling  herself  for  a  good  long  ride;  "I 
want  you  to  tell  me  everything." 


QUIN  351 

The  beginning  and  the  end  and  all  that  lay  be- 
tween them  could  easily  have  been  compassed  in 
three  words  by  Quin.  But  there  were  things  he 
had  pledged  himself  to  tell  her  before  he  even 
broached  the  subject  that  was  shrieking  for  utter- 
ance. With  painstaking  exactness  he  set  forth  the 
facts  that  led  up  to  his  dismissal,  trying  to  be  fair 
to  Mr.  Bangs  as  well  as  to  himself,  arid,  above  all, 
to  claim  no  credit  for  taking  the  stand  he  had. 

But  Eleanor  would  not  see  it  thus.  With  char- 
acteristic fervor  she  espoused  his  cause.  She  de- 
clared he  had  been  treated  outrageously.  He  ought 
to  have  taken  the  matter  straight  to  her  grandmother. 
The  very  idea!  After  all  the  work  he  had  done  at 
the  factory,  for  him  to  be  dismissed  just  because  he 
would  n't  do  a  thing  that  he  considered  dishonor- 
able! She  hated  Mr.  Bangs — she  always  had  hated! 
him ;  and  the  more  she  dwelt  upon  the  fact,  the  more 
ardently  she  approved  Quin's  course. 

"It  was  perfectly  splendid  of  you  to  refuse  his 
offer!"  she  cried,  and  her  eyes  blazed  with  that  par- 
ticular ray  of  feminine  partizanship  that  is  most 
soothing  to  the  injured  masculine.  "And  you  won't 
lose  by  it  in  the  long  run.  You  '11  get  another  posi- 
tion right  off.  Why  don't  you  try  to  get  one  here  in 
New  York?" 

"Would  you  like  me  to?" 

"I  should  say  I  should!  Then  we  could  do  all 
sorts  of  jolly  things  together.  Not  studio  parties 


352  QUIN 

or  cabarets,  but  jolly  outdoor  things  like  we  used  to 
do  at  home.  Do  stay,  Quin;  won't  you?" 

She  was  looking  up  at  him  with  such  frank  urg- 
ency and  such  entire  sympathy  that  Quin  lost  his 
head  completely. 

"Miss  Nell,"  he  blurted  out,  "if  I  stay  and  get  a 
job  and  make  good,  will  you  marry  me?" 

Eleanor,  who  was  used  to  much  more  subtle 
manceuvers,  was  caught  unaware  by  this  sudden 
attack.  For  a  second  she  was  thrown  into  confu- 
sion; then  she  rallied  all  her  forces  for  the  defense. 

"Why,  of  course  I  won't !"  she  said — then  added 
with  more  conviction:  "I  am  not  going  to  marry 
anybody — not  for  years  arid  years." 

"But  I  '11  wait  years  and  years,"  persisted  Quin 
eagerly.  "I  wouldn't  marry  any  girl  until  I  could 
take  care  of  her.  But  if  you'll  just  give  me  a  tip 
that  maybe  some  day  perhaps " 

It  was  very  difficult  to  go  on  addressing  his  re- 
marks to  an  impassive  classic  profile — so  difficult,  in 
fact,  that  he  abandoned  the  effort  and  let  his  eyes 
say  the  rest  for  him. 

Eleanor  stirred  uneasily. 

"I  wish  you  would  n't  be  foolish,  Quin,  and  spoil 
all  our  fun.  I  've  told  you  I  mean  to  go  on  the  stage 
for  good  and  all.  You  know  you  wouldn't  want 
an  actress  for  a  wife." 

"I  'd  want  you,  whatever  you  were,"  he  said  with 


QUIN  353 

such  fervor  that  she  rashly  gave  him  her  luminous 
eyes  again  in  gratitude. 

He  made  the  most  of  the  opportunity  thus 
offered. 

"Honest,  now!"  he  boldly  challenged  her.  "You 
can't  deny  that  you  love  me  just  a  little  bit,  can 
you?" 

She  stared  straight  ahead  of  her  down  the  long 
dim  avenue,  making  no  response  to  his  question. 
The  cherries  that  swung  from  her  hat-brim  stirred 
not  a  hair's-breadth,  but  the  commotion  their  still- 
ness caused  in  Quin's  heart  was  nothing  short  of 
cyclonic. 

"More  than  when  you  left  Kentucky?"  he  per- 
sisted relentlessly. 

This  time  a  barely  perceptible  nod  stirred  the 
cherries. 

"There !"  he  said  triumphantly.  "I  knew  it !  Just 
keep  right  on  the  way  you  are  going,  and  I  won't 
say  a  word!" 

"But  I  haven't  given  you  any  encouragement; 
you  must  n't  think  I  have." 

"I  know  it.     But  you  have  n't  turned  me  down." 

At  this  she  smiled  at  him  helplessly. 

"You  are  not  very  easy  to  turn  down,  Quin." 

"No,"  he  admitted;  "it  can't  be  done." 

At  this  moment  the  bus  rounded  a  sharp  corner 
without  slowing  up,  and  the  passengers  on  top  were 
lurched  forward  with  such  violence  that  at  least 


354  QUIN 

one  masculine  arm  took  advantage  of  the  occasion 
to  clasp  a  swaying  lady  with  unnecessary  solicitude. 
It  may  have  been  a  second,  and  it  may  have  been 
longer,  that  Quin  sat  with  his  arm  about  Eleanor 
and  his  hand  clasping  hers.  Time  and  space  ceased 
to  exist  for  him  and  blessed  infinity  set  in.  And 
then 

"Good  gracious!"  she  cried,  starting  up.  "Where 
are  we?  I'd  forgotten  all  about  our  cross-street." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  they  were  in  Harlem. 

All  the  way  back  Eleanor  refused  to  be  serious 
about  anything.  The  mischievous,  contradictor}*, 
incalculable  little  devil  that  always  lurked  in  her 
took  full  possession.  She  teased  Quin,  and  laughed 
at  him,  leading  him  on  one  minute  and  running  to 
cover  the  next. 

When  they  reached  the  apartment,  she  tripped 
up  the  five  flights  as  lightly  as  a  bird,  and  Quin,  in 
his  effort  to  keep  up  with  her,  overtaxed  himself 
and  paid  the  penalty.  Heart  and  lungs  were  behav- 
ing outrageously  when  he  reached  the  top  landing, 
and  he  had  to  steady  himself  by  the  banister. 

"Oh,  Quin,  I  ought  to  have  remembered!" 
Eleanor  cried,  with  what  he  considered  divine  com- 
passion. "I  can't  bear  to  hear  you  cough  like  that! 
It  sounds  as  if  it  were  tearing  you  to  pieces." 

"It 's  nothing !"  said  Quin,  struggling  to  get  his 
breath.  "I  '11  be  all  right  in  a  minute.  What 's  the 
box  by  the  door?" 


QUIN  355 

Eleanor's  glance  followed  his. 

"If  that  old  walrus,  Pfingst,  has  dared  to  send  me 
flowers  again !"  she  cried,  pouncing  on  the  card  and 
holding  it  so  they  both  could  read  it. 

Penciled  in  small,  even  lines  were  the  words : 

Sorry  to  find  the  lady-bird  flown.  Will  call  up  in  the 
morning.  H.  P. 

Even  in  the  dimly  lighted  hall,  Quin  could  see 
the  flush  that  suffused  Eleanor's  face. 

"It 's  Harold  Phipps,"  she  said,  trying  to  be 
casual.  "I — I  didn't  know  he  was  in  town." 

Quin  followed  her  into  the  apartment,  and  stood 
dully  by  the  table  as  she  untied  the  box  and  lifted 
half  a  dozen  exquisite  white  orchids  from  their  bed 
of  maidenhair  ferns.  Then,  trying  very  hard  to 
keep  his  voice  steady,  he  asked  gently : 

"What  does  this  mean,  Miss  Nell?  I  thought 
you  were  n't  going  to  have  anything  more  to  do  with 
that  man." 

"Well,  I  haven't.  That  is,  not — not  until  he 
came  on  last  month  to  see  about  the  play.1' 

"What  play?" 

"  'Phantom  Love.' " 

"But  why  did  you  have  to  see  him?" 

"Because  I  am  to  be  in  the  play." 

"Not  in  his  play?" 

"No  more  his  than  Papa  Claude's." 

Quin's  face  darkened. 


356  QUIN 

"I  saw  him  for  only  a  few  minutes,"  Eleanor 
went  on,  "and  Papa  Claude  was  with  us.  I  give 
you  my  word,  Quin,  I  've  never  spoken  to  him 
alone,  or  answered  one  of  his  letters." 

"Then  he  has  been  writing  to  you?  What  busi- 
ness has  he  got  worrying  you  with  letters  and 
flowers  when  you  have  told  him  you  are  through 
with  him?" 

In  spite  of  his  effort  to  keep  calm,  there  was  a 
rising  note  of  anger  in  his  voice. 

"He  is  not  worrying  me,"  said  Eleanor,  evidently 
conscious  of  her  weakness  in  admitting  Harold  at 
the  window  of  friendship  when  she  had  banished 
him  from  the  door  of  love.  "He  understands  per- 
fectly that  everything  is  over  between  us.  But  it 
would  be  silly  for  us  to  refuse  to  speak  to  each 
other  when  we  shall  necessarily  be  thrown  together 
a  lot." 

"Thrown  together?    How  do  you  mean?" 

"At  rehearsals." 

"Do  you  mean  he  is  to  be  here  in  New  York?" 

"Yes — after  next  month.  He  has  given  up  his 
position  in  Chicago,  so  he  can  devote  all  the  time 
to  the  play.  You  see,  he  not  only  helped  to  write 
it,  but  he  is  financing  it." 

"So  he  is  the — backer?"  Quin  was  scarcely  re- 
sponsible for  what  he  said,  so  suddenly  had  disaster 
trodden  on  the  heels  of  ecstasy. 

"He  is  Papa  Claude's  partner  and  producer,"  said 


QUIN  357 

Eleanor  with  dignity.  "If  I  don't  care  anything 
for  him,  I  don't  see  what  harm  there  is  in  seeing 
him." 

"Not  liking  whisky  won't  keep  it  from  going  to 
your  head,"  said  Quin  stubbornly. 

"That's  perfect  nonsense;  and  besides,  what  can 
I  do  ?  It 's  his  play  as  well  as  ours.  I  can't  ask 
him  to  stay  away  from  rehearsals." 

"No ;  but  you  can  stay  away  yourself.  You  don't 
have  to  be  in  this  play.  Something  else  will  turn 
up.  You  can  afford  to  wait." 

"But  that 's  just  the  point — I  can't !  And,  be- 
sides, think  how  silly  and  childish  it  would  be  for 
me  to  refuse  a  wonderful  chance  for  a  professional 
debut  that  might  not  come  again  in  years." 

"But  don't  you  see,  Miss  Nell,  you  are  in  honor 
bound  not  to  go  on  with  this  ?" 

"Honor  bound?     How  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  to  Queen  Vic." 

"I  agreed  to  break  my  engagement  with  Harold 
Phipps  and  not  to  answer  any  of  his  letters.  I  've 
kept  my  promise." 

"Yes;  but  I  thought,  and  I  made  her  think,  that 
you  agreed  not  to  see  him  or  have  anything  to  do 
with  him  for  six  months." 

"Well,  the  time  will  be  up  in  six  weeks." 

"Lots  can  happen  in  six  weeks." 

If  Quin  had  been  wise  he  would  have  taken 
another  tack;  but,  in  his  earnest  effort  to  make  her 


358  QUIN 

see  her  duty  to  Madam,  he  failed  to  press  his  own 
more  personal  claims,  and  thus  lost  his  one  chance 
of  reaching  her. 

Eleanor  understood  impulse,  emotion,  but  she 
would  not  listen  to  reason.  The  mere  mention  of 
Madam's  name  stirred  up  a  whirlwind  that  snuffed 
out  any  love-lights  that  might  have  been  kindling. 
She  stood  with  her  back  to  the  table,  twisting  Har- 
old Phipps's  card  in  her  fingers,  and  she  looked  at 
Quin  suspiciously. 

"Did  grandmother  send  you  up  here  to  see  if  I 
was  keeping  my  word?" 

"She  did  not.     She  does  n't  know  I  am  here." 

"Then  it's  just  you  who  don't  trust  me?" 

"Well,  I  don't  think  you  are  playing  quite  fair," 
admitted  Quin  bluntly,  "either  to  Queen  Vic  or  to 
me." 

"And  I  suppose  you  propose  to  go  back  and  tell 
her  so?" 

"I  propose  nothing  of  the  kind.  It 's  up  to  you 
whether  we  both  keep  our  word,  or  whether  we 
both  break  it.  You  know  what  I  think,  and  you 
see  the  position  I  am  in." 

"I  can  settle  that,"  said  Eleanor  with  spirit.  "I 
can  write  home  to-night  and  tell  them  what  I  intend 
to  do.  That  will  exonerate  you,  if  that  is  what  you 
are  after." 

"It  is  n't  what  I  am  after,  and  you  know  it !  For 
God's  sake,  Miss  Nell,  be  fair!  You  know  you 


QUIN  359 

can't  go  on  with  this  thing  without  starting  up  the 
old  trouble  with  Mr.  Phipps." 

"But,  I  tell  you,  I  can.  I  can  control  the  situation 
perfectly.  Why  can't  you  trust  me,  Quin?" 

"I  don't  trust  him.  He  's  got  ways  of  compro- 
mising a  girl  that  you  don't  know  anything  about. 
If  he  ever  gets  wind  of  your  going  to  Chicago " 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  throw  that  up  to  me!" 
There  was  real  anger  in  her  voice,  which  up  to  now 
had  shown  signs  of  softening.  "Just  because  I  hap- 
pened to  me  a  fool  once,  it  'does  n't  follow  that  I  '11 
be  one  again!  It  won't  be  pleasant  for  me,  but  I 
am  not  going  to  let  his  connection  with  'Phantom 
Love'  spoil  my  chance  of  a  lifetime." 

"And  he  will  be  at  all  the  rehearsals,  I  suppose, 
and  up  here  in  the  apartment  between-times." 
Quin's  jealousy  ran  through  him  like  fire  through 
dry  stubble.  "You  '11  probably  be  seeing  him  every 
day." 

"And  what  if  I  do?"  demanded  Eleanor.  "I 
have  told  you  our  relations  are  strictly  profes- 
sional." 

"That  card  looks  like  it,"  sai'd  Quin  bitterly. 

Eleanor  tossed  the  object  referred  to  in  the  trash- 
basket  and  looked  at  him  defiantly.  The  very  weak- 
ness of  her  position  made  her  peculiarly  sensitive  to 
criticism,  and  the  fact  that  her  mentor  was  her  one- 
time slave  augmented  her  wrath. 

"See  here,  Miss  Nell."    Quin  came  a  step  closer, 


'360  QUIN 

and  his  voice  was  husky  with  emotion.  "I  know 
how  keen  you  are  about  the  stage ;  but,  take  it  from 
me,  you  are  making  a  wrong  start.  If  you'll  just 
promise  to  wait  until  your  time  is  up " 

"I  won't  promise  anything!  What's  the  use? 
Nobody  believes  me.  Even  you  are  siding  with 
grandmother  and  suspecting  me  of  breaking  my 
word.  I  don't  intend  to  submit  to  it  any  longer!" 

Queer,  spasmodic  movements  were  going  on  in 
Quin's  lungs,  and  he  controlled  his  voice  with  diffi- 
culty. 

"You  mean  you  are  going  on  seeing  Mr.  Phipps 
and  letting  him  send  you  flowers  and  things?" 

"I  am  not!"  Eleanor  cried  furiously.  "But,  if 
I  should,  it 's  nobody's  business  but  my  own !" 

For  an  agonizing  moment  they  faced  each  other 
angrily,  both  of  them  lost  in  the  labyrinth  of  their 
own  situation.  At  the  slightest  plea  for  help  on 
her  part,  Quin  would  have  broken  through  his  own 
difficulties  and  rushed  to  her  rescue.  He  would 
even  have  offered  to  plead  her  cause  again  at  the 
family  tribunal.  But  she  was  like  a  wilful  child 
who  is  determined  to  walk  alone  on  a  high  and 
dangerous  wall.  The  very  effort  to  protect  her 
might  prove  disastrous. 

"If  that 's  the  case,"  said  Quin,  with  his  jaw 
thrust  out  and  his  nostrils  quivering,  "what  do  you 
want  me  to  do  ?" 


QUIN  361 

"I  don't  care  what  you  do !"  Eleanor  flung  back — 
"just  so  you  leave  me  alone." 

Without  a  word,  he  picked  up  his  hat  and  strode 
out  of  the  apartment  and  down  the  stairs.  At  every 
landing  he  paused,  hoping  against  hope  that  she 
might  call  him  back.  Even  at  the  door  he  paused, 
straining  his  ears  for  the  faintest  whisper  from 
above.  But  no  sound  broke  the  stillness,  and  with 
a  gesture  of  despair  he  flung  open  the  door  and 
passed  out  into  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  31 

\  1C  THEN  an  extremely  energetic  person  has 
V  V  spent  eighteen  months  making  connections 
with  a  family,  he  does  not  find  it  easy  to  sever  them 
in  a  day.  Quin's  announcement  that  he  was  going 
to  leave  the  Martels  met  with  a  storm  of  protest. 
He  had  the  excellent  excuse  that  when  Cass  married 
in  June  there  would  be  no  room  for  him,  but  it 
took  all  his  diplomacy  to  effect  the  change  without 
giving  offense.  Rose  was  tearful,  and  Cass  furious, 
and  a  cloud  of  gloom  enveloped  the  little  brown 
house. 

With  the  Bartletts  it  was  no  easier.  On  his  re- 
turn from  New  York  he  had  found  three  notes  from 
them,  each  of  which  requested  an  immediate  inter- 
view. Madam's  stated  that  she  had  heard  of  his 
dismissal  from  the  factory  and  that  she  was  ready 
to  do  battle  for  him  to  the  death.  "Geoffrey  Bangs 
got  rid  of  Ranny,"  she  wrote,  "arid  now  he  thinks 
he  can  ship  you.  But  I  guess  I  '11  show  him  who 
is  the  head  of  the  firm." 

The  second  note  was  from  Miss  Isobel  and  was 
marked  "Confidential."  In  incoherent  sentences  it 
told  of  a  letter  just  received  from  Eleanor,  in  which 

362 


QUIN  363 

she  announced  that  she  was  planning  to  make  her 
professional  debut  in  July,  and  that  as  Mr.  Phipps 
was  connected  with  the  play  in  which  she  was  to 
appear,  she  felt  that  she  could  accept  no  further 
favors  from  her  grandmother.  Miss  Isobel  im- 
plored Quin  to  come  at  once  and  advise  her  what 
to  do  about  telling  Madam,  especially  as  they  were 
leaving  for  Maine  within  the  next  ten  days. 

The  third  delicately  penned  epistle  was  a  gentle 
effusion  from  Miss  Enid,  who  was  home  on  a  visit 
and  eager  to  see  "dear  Quin,  who  had  been  the  in- 
nocent means  of  reuniting  her  and  the  dearest  man 
in  all  the  world." 

It  was  these  letters  that  put  Quin's  desire  for 
flight  into  instant  action.  He  must  go  where  he 
would  not  be  questioned  or  asked  for  advice.  The 
mere  mention  of  Eleanor's  name  was  agony  to  him. 
It  contracted  his  throat  and  sent  the  blood  pounding 
through  his  veins.  His  hurt  was  so  intolerable  that 
he  shrank  from  even  a  touch  of  sympathy.  Perhaps 
later  on  he  would  be  able  to  face  the  situation,  but 
just  now  his  one  desire  was  to  get  away  from  every- 
thing connected  with  his  unhappiness. 

In  beating  about  in  his  mind  for  a  temporary 
refuge,  he  remembered  a  downtown  rooming-house 
to  which  he  had  once  gone  with  Dirks,  the  foreman 
at  Bartlett  &  Bangs.  Here  he  transferred  his  few 
possessions,  and  persuaded  Rose  to  tell  the  Bart- 
letts  that  he  had  left  town  for  an  indefinite  stay. 


364  QUIN 

This  he  hoped  would  account  for  his  absence  until 
they  left  for  their  summer  vacation. 

The  ten  weeks  that  followed  are  not  pleasant  ones 
to  dwell  upon.  The  picture  of  Quin  tramping  the 
streets  by  day  in  a  half-hearted  search  for  work, 
and  tramping  them  again  at  night  when  he  could  not 
sleep,  of  him  lying  face  downward  on  a  cot  in  a 
small  damp  room,  with  all  his  confidence  and  bra- 
vado gone,  and  only  his  racking  cough  for  company, 
are  better  left  unchronicled. 

He  fought  his  despair  with  dogged  determina- 
tion, but  his  love  for  Eleanor  had  twined  itself 
around  everything  that  was  worth  while  in  him. 
In  plucking  it  out  he  uprooted  his  ambition,  his 
carefully  acquired  friendships,  his  belief  in  himself, 
his  faith  in  the  future.  For  eighteen  months  he  had 
lived  in  the  radiance  of  one  all-absorbing  dream, 
with  a  faith  in  its  ultimate  fulfilment  that  tran- 
scended every  fear.  And  now  that  that  hope  was 
dead,  the  blackness  of  despair  settled  upon  him. 

That  fact  that  Eleanor  had  broken  faith  with 
him,  that  she  was  willing  to  renew  her  friendship 
with  Harold  Phipps  when  she  knew  what  he  was, 
that  she  was  willing  to  give  up  friends  and  family 
and  her  inheritance  for  the  sake  of  being  with  him, 
could  have  but  one  explanation. 

Quin  used  to  tell  himself  this  again  and  again, 
as  he  lay  in  the  hot  darkness  with  his  hands  clasped 
across  his  eyes.  He  used  it  as  a  whip  with  which 


QUIN  365 

to  scourge  any  vagrant  hopes  that  dare'd  creep  into 
his  heart  Had  n't  Miss  Nell  told  him  that  she 
did  n't  care  what  he  said  or  did,  just  so  he  left  her 
alone  ?  Had  n't  she  let  him  come  away  without 
expressing  a  regret  for  the  past  or  a  hope  for  the 
future  ? 

But,  even  as  his  head  condemned  her,  his  heart 
rushed  to  her  defense.  After  all,  she  had  never  said 
she  cared  for  him.  And  why  should  she  care  for  a 
fellow  like  him,  with  no  education,  or  money,  or 
position?  Even  with  her  faults,  she  was  too  good 
for  the  best  man  living.  But  she  cared  for  Harold 
Phipps — and  with  that  bitter  thought  the  turmoil 
began  all  over  again. 

He  was  not  only  unhappy,  but  intolerably  lonely 
and  ill.  He  missed  Rose  and  her  care  for  him;  he 
missed  Cass's  friendship;  he  missed  his  visits  to 
the  Bartletts;  and  above  all  he  missed  his  work. 
His  interest  still  clung  to  Bartlett  &  Bangs,  and  the 
only  times  of  forgetfulness  that  he  had  were  when 
he  and  Dirks  were  discussing  the  business  of  the 
firm. 

What  made  matters  worse  was  the  humid  heat 
of  the  summer.  A  low  barometer,  always  an  afflic- 
tion to  him,  in  his  present  nervous  state  was  torture. 
Night  after  night  he  lay  gasping  for  breath,  and  in 
the  morning  he  rose  gaunt  and  pale,  with  hollow 
rings  under  his  eyes.  Having  little  desire  for  food. 


366  QUIN 

he  often  made  one  meal  a  day  suffice,  substituting 
coffee  for  more  solid  food. 

This  method  of  living  could  have  but  one  result. 
By  the  middle  of  July  he  was  confined  to  his  bed 
with  a  heavy  bronchial  cold  and  a  temperature  that 
boded  ill.  Once  down  and  defenseless,  he  became 
a  prey  to  all  the  feminine  solicitude  of  the  rooming- 
house.  The  old  lady  next  door  pottered  in  and  out, 
putting  mustard  plasters  on  his  chest  and  forgetting 
to  take  them  off,  arid  feeding  him  nauseous  concoc- 
tions that  she  brewed  over  a  coal-oil  stove.  A  woman 
from  upstairs  insisted  on  keeping  his  window  and 
door  wide  open,  and  trying  cold  compresses  on  his 
throat.  While  the  majorful  mother  of  six  across 
the  hall  came  in  each  night  to  sweep  the  other  two 
out,  close  the  window  and  door,  and  fill  the  room 
with  eucalyptus  fumes. 

Quin  let  them  'do  whatever  they  wanted.  The 
mere  business  of  breathing  seemed  to  be  about  all 
he  could  attend  to  these  days.  The  only  point  on 
which  he  was  firm  was  his  refusal  to  notify  his 
friends  or  to  have  a  doctor. 

"I  '11  be  all  right  when  this  beastly  weather  lets 
up,"  he  said  to  Dirks  one  Sunday  night.  "Is  there 
any  sign  of  clearing?" 

"Not  much.  It 's  thick  and  muggy  and  still  rain- 
ing in  torrents.  I  wish  you  'd  see  a  doctor." 

Pride  kept  Quin  from  revealing  the  fact  that  he 


QUIN  367 

had  no  money  to  pay  a  doctor.  Five  weeks  without 
work  had  completely  exhausted  his  exchequer. 

"I  'm  used  to  these  knockouts,"  he  wheezed  with 
assumed  cheerfulness  one  Sunday  night.  "It's  not 
half  as  bad  as  it  sounds.  I  '11  be  up  in  a  day  or  so." 

Dirks  was  not  satisfied.  His  glance  swept  the 
small  disordered  room,  and  came  back  to  the  flushed 
face  on  the  pillow. 

"Don't  you  want  some  grulir?"  he  suggested.  "I  ''11 
get  you  anything  you  like/' 

"No,  thanks ;  I  'm  not  hungry.  You  might  put 
the  water-pitcher  over  here  by  the  bed.  My  tongue 
feels  like  a  shredded-wheat  biscuit." 

Dirks  gave  him  some  water,  then  turned  to  go. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  he  said.  "Here's  a  letter  for 
you  that 's  been  laying  around  at  the  factory  for  a 
couple  of  days.  Nobody  knew  where  to  forward 
it." 

Like  a  shot  Ouin  was  up  in  bed  and  holding  out 
an  eager  hand.  But  at  sight  of  the  small  cramped 
writing  he  lay  back  on  his  pillow  listlessly. 

"It's  from  Miss  Isobel  Bartlett,"  he  said  indif- 
ferently. "Wonder  what  she's  doing  back  in  town 
in  the  middle  of  the  summer." 

"I  hear  they  are  all  back,"  Dirks  said.  "The  old 
lady  is  very  ill  and  they  had  to  bring  her  home.  If 
you  want  anything  in  the  night,  just  pound  on  the 
wall.  I  'm  going  to  fetch  a  doctor  if  you  ain't 
better  in  the  morning." 


368  QUIN 

When  Dirks  had  gone  Quin  opened  his  letter  and 
read: 

Dear  Quin: 

I  am  rushing  this  off  to  the  factory  in  the  hope  that  they 
have  your  address  and  can  get  into  communication  with 
you  at  once.  Mother  has  had  two  dreadful  attacks  with 
her  appendix,  and  the  doctors  say  she  cannot  survive 
another.  But  she  refuses  point-blank  to  be  operated  on, 
and  my  brother  and  sister  and  I  are  powerless  to  move 
her.  Won't  you  come  the  moment  you  get  this,  and  try 
to  persuade  her?  She  has  such  confidence  in  your  judg- 
ment, and  you  could  always  do  more  with  her  than  any  one 
else.  I  am  almost  wild  with  anxiety  and  I  don't  know 
which  way  to  turn.  Do  come  at  once. 

Your  friend, 

ISOBEL  BARTLETT. 

Quin  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  then  sat  down  limp- 
ly, waiting  for  the  furniture  to  stop  revolving  about 
him.  It  was  evident  that  he  would  have  to  use  his 
head  to  save  his  legs,  if  he  expected  to  make  any 
progress.  Holding  to  the  bed-post,  he  brought  all 
his  concentration  to  bear  on  the  whereabouts  of  the 
various  garments  he  had  thrown  off  ten  days  be- 
fore. The  lack  of  a  clean  shirt  and  the  imperative 
need  of  a  shave  presented  grave  difficulties,  but  he 
would  have  gone  to  Miss  Isobel's  rescue  if  he  had 
had  to  go  in  pajamas ! 

When  at  last  he  had  struggled  into  his  clothes, 
he  put  out  his  light  and  tiptoed  past  Dirks'  door. 
At  the  first  sniff  of  night  air  he  began  to  cough, 
and  he  clapped  his  hand  over  his  mouth,  swearing 
softly  to  himself.  On  the  front  steps  he  hesitated. 


QUIN  369 

The  rain  was  falling  in  sheets,  and  the  street  lights 
shone  through  a  blur  of  fog.  For  the  first  time, 
Quin  realized  it  was  a  block  to  the  car  line,  and 
that  he  had  no  umbrella.  Hard  experience  had 
taught  him  the  dire  results  of  exposure  and  over- 
exertion.  But  the  excitement  of  once  more  getting 
in  touch  with  the  Bartletts,  of  being  of  service  to 
Madam,  and  above  all  of  hearing  news  of  Eleanor, 
banished  all  other  considerations.  Turning  up  his 
coat  collar  and  pulling  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  he  went 
down  the  steps  and  started  on  an  uncertain  run  for 
the  corner. 


CHAPTER  32 

DURING  the  days  that  Quin  was  floundering  in 
the  bog  of  poverty,  illness  and  despair, 
Eleanor  Bartlett  was  triumphantly  climbing  the  peak 
of  achievement.  "Phantom  Love,"  after  weeks  of 
strenuous  rehearsal  and  nerve-racking  uncertainty, 
had  had  its  premiere  performance  at  Atlantic  City 
and  scored  an  instantaneous  hit. 

All  spring  Eleanor  had  lived  in  excited  antici- 
pation of  the  event.  In  the  hard  work  demanded 
of  her  she  had  found  welcome  relief  from  some  of 
her  own  complicated  problems.  She  wanted  to  for- 
get that  she  had  broken  her  word,  that  she  was  caus- 
ing the  family  serious  trouble,  and  more  than  all 
she  wanted  to  forget  Quinby  Graham  and  the  look 
on  his  face  when  he  left  her. 

During  her  stay  in  New  York  she  had  suffered 
many  disillusions.  She  had  seen  her  dreams  trans- 
lated into  actual  and  disconcerting  realities.  But, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  much  of  the  gold  and 
glamour  had  turned  to  tinsel,  she  was  still  fasci- 
nated by  the  life  and  its  glorious  possibilities. 

It  was  not  until  she  got  into  the  full  swing  of  the 
rehearsals  that  she  made  a  disconcerting  discovery. 

37o 


QUIN  '371 

Try  as  she  would,  she  could  not  adapt  herself  to 
the  other  members  of  the  company.  She  hated 
their  petty  jealousies  and  intermittent  intimacies,  the 
little  intrigues  and  the  undercurrent  of  gossip  that 
made  up  their  days.  From  the  first  she  realized 
that  she  was  looked  upon  as  an  alien.  The  fact 
that  she  was  shown  special  favors  was  hotly  re- 
sented, and  her  refusal  to  rehearse  daily  the  love 
passages  with  Finnegan,  the  promising  young 
comedian  who  two  years  before  had  driven  an  ice- 
wagon  in  New  Orleans,  was  a  constant  grievance  to 
the  stage  manager.  In  the  last  matter  Harold 
Phipps  had  upheld  her,  as  he  had  in  all  others ;  but 
his  very  championship  constituted  her  chief  cause 
of  worry. 

Since  the  day  of  his  joining  the  company  she  had 
given  him  no  opportunity  for  seeing  her  alone.  By 
a  method  of  protection  peculiarly  her  own,  she  had 
managed  to  achieve  an  isolation  as  complete  as  an 
alpine  blossom  in  the  heart  of  an  iceberg.  But  in 
the  heat  and  enthusiasm  of  a  successful  try-out, 
when  everybody  was  effervescing  with  excitement,  it 
was  increasingly  difficult  to  maintain  this  air  of  cold 
detachment. 

Papa  Claude  alone  was  sufficient  to  warm  any 
atmosphere.  He  radiated  happiness.  Every  after- 
noon, arrayed  in  white  flannels  and  a  soft  white  hat, 
with  a  white  rose  in  his  buttonhole,  he  rode  in  his 


372  QUIN 

chair  on  the  boardwalk,  bowing  to  right  and  to 
left  with  the  air  of  a  sovereign  graciously  acknowl- 
edging his  subjects.  Night  found  him  in  the  pro- 
scenium-box at  the  theater,  beaming  upon  the  audi- 
ence, except  when  he  turned  vociferously  to  applaud 
Eleanor's  exits  and  entrances. 

The  entire  week  of  the  first  performance  was 
nothing  short  of  pandemonium.  Mr.  Pfingst  had 
brought  a  large  party  down  from  New  York  on  his 
yacht,  and  between  rehearsals  and  performances 
there  was  an  endless  round  of  suppers  and  dinners 
and  sailing-parties. 

With  the  arrival  of  Sunday  morning  Eleanor  was 
in  a  state  of  physical  and  emotional  exhaustion. 
She  was  sitting  before  her  dressing-table  in  a  sleeve- 
less pink  negligee,  with  her  hair  dangling  in  two 
thick  childish  braids  over  her  shoulder,  when  Papa 
Claude  dashed  in  from  the  next  room  to  announce 
that  Mr.  Pfingst  had  invited  the  entire  cast  to  have 
lunch  on  his  yacht. 

"Not  for  me!"  said  Eleanor,  sipping  her  coffee 
between  yawns.  "I  am  going  straight  back  to  bed 
and  sleep  all  day." 

"Morning  megrims!"  cried  Papa  Claude,  fresher 
than  the  proverbial  'daisy.  "What  you  need  is  a 
frolic  with  old  Neptune!  We  bathe  at  eleven,  go 
aboard  the  Minta  at  twelve,  lunch  at  one.  Pfingst's 
chef  is  an  artist;  he  can  create  a  lobster  Newburg 


QUIN  373 

that  is  an  epic!"  Papa  Claude's  tongue  made  the 
circle  of  his  lips  as  he  spoke. 

"I  don't  like  lobster,"  Eleanor  pouted;  "and, 
what's  more,  I  don't  like  Mr.  Pfmgst." 

"Nonsense,  my  love !  Pfingst  is  a  prince  of  good 
fellows.  Very  generous — very  generous  indeed. 
Besides,  there  will  be  others  on  board — Harold  and 
Estelle  and  myself." 

Eleanor  laid  her  face  against  his  sleeve. 

"I  wish  you  and  I  could  run  off  somewhere  for 
the  day  alone.  I  am  so  sick  of  seeing  those  same 
people  day  in  and  day  out.  They  never  talk  about 
anything  but  themselves." 

Papa  Claude  stroked  her  hair  and  smiled  toler- 
antly. It  was  natural  that  his  little  Eleanor  should 
be  capricious  and  variable  and  addicted  to  moods. 
She  was  evidently  acquiring  temperament. 

Some  one  tapped  at  the  door,  and  he  sprang  to 
answer  it. 

"I  've  just  been  to  your  room,  and  the  maid  said 
you  were  in  here,"  said  Harold  Phipps's  voice. 

"Come  right  in!"  cried  Papa  Claude,  flinging 
wide  the  door.  "We  are  just  discussing  plans,  and 
need  you  to  cast  the  deciding  vote." 

"But  I  'm  not  'dressed,  Papa  Claude !"  expostu- 
lated Eleanor.  "I  still  have  on  my  kimono." 

"A  charming  costume,"  said  Papa  Claude — "one 
in  which  a  whole  nation  appears  in  public.  I  leave 


374  QUIN 

it  to  my  distinguished  collaborator :  could  any  toilet, 
however  elaborate,  be  more  becoming?" 

Harold  gave  a  light  laugh  as  his  glance  rested 
with  undisguised  approval  on  the  slender  figure  in 
its  clinging  silk  garment,  the  rosy  hues  of  which 
were  reflected  in  the  girl's  flaming  cheeks. 

"Just  stopped  for  a  second,  C.  M.,"  Harold  said, 
avoiding  her  indignant  eyes.  "I  wanted  to  tell  you 
about  the  New  York  press  notices.  They  are  simply 
superb!  Tribune  has  a  column.  The  Times  and 
Herald  give  us  a  headliner.  And  even  the  old  Sun 
says  there  are  passages  in  'Phantom  Love'  that 
might  have  been  written  by  Moliere!" 

"Where  are  the  papers?"  cried  Papa  Claude, 
prancing  with  excitement. 

"I  gave  mine  to  Estelle.  You  can  get  them  down- 
stairs at  the  news-stand." 

"I  '11  run  down  now — be  back  in  a  second."  And 
Papa  Claude  rushed  impetuously  from  the  room. 

Eleanor  and  Harold  stood  facing  each  other 
where  he  had  left  them,  he  with  an  air  of  apologetic 
amusement,  and  she  with  an  angry  dignity  that 
rested  incongruously  on  her  childish  prettiness. 

"Will  you  please  go  down  and  tell  Mr.  Pfingst 
that  I  am  not  coming  to  his  party?"  she  asked,  with 
the  obvious  intention  of  getting  rid  of  him. 

"Why  aren't  you?" 

"Because  I  don't  like  him." 


QUIN  '375 

"Neither  do  it.  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  it? 
Estelle  Linton  will  take  him  off  our  hands." 

"I  don't  care  for  Miss  Linton,  either.  If  I  had 
known " 

"Oh,  come!  Haven't  we  got  past  that?"  scoffed 
Harold,  sitting  astride  a  chair  and  looking  at  her 
quizzically.  "Nobody  pays  any  attention  to 
Estelle's  numerous  little  affairs.  I  'd  as  soon  think 
of  criticizing  a  Watteau  lady  on  an  ivory  fan !" 

"You  can  probably  catch  Mr.  Pfingst  in  the  'din- 
ing-room if  you  go  down  at  once,"  suggested 
Eleanor  pointedly. 

"But  I  've  no  intention  of  going  down  at  once. 
Eleanor,  why  do  you  play  with  me  like  this  ?  Can't 
you  see  that  this  can't  go  on  ?  I  've  been  patient, 
God  knows.  For  two  months  I  've  done  nothing 
but  advance  your  interests,  put  you  forward  in  every 
conceivable  way.  And  what  have  I  got?  The 
merest  civility !  Do  you  suppose  it 's  pleasant  for 
me  to  know  that  everybody  in  the  company  is  whis- 
pering about  my  infatuation  for  you  and  your  in- 
difference to  me?  The  maddening  part  of  it  is  that 
I  know  perfectly  well  you  are  not  indifferent.  You 
are  in  love  with  me.  You  always  have  been.  You  'd 
have  married  me  last  fall  if  some  busybody  hadn't 
filled  your  ears  with  scandal.  Confess,  wouldn't 
you?" 

"Yes;  but " 

"I  knew  it!     And  you  are  going  to  marry  me 


376  QUIN 

now.  You  can  do  anything  you  \vant,  have  any- 
thing you  want.  I  '11  put  you  at  the  head  of  your 
own  company ;  I  '11  take  you  over  to  London.  I  '11 
do  anything  under  heaven  but  give  you  up." 

He  rose  suddenly  and  went  toward  her,  catching 
her  bare  arm  and  trying  to  draw  her  toward  him; 
but  she  struggled  from  his  embrace. 

"Let  me  go!"  she  cried  furiously.  "If  you  don't 
leave  the  room  instantly,  I  will !  There  's  Papa 
Claude  now.  Let  me  pass!" 

It  was  not  Papa  Claude,  however,  to  whom  she 
opened  the  door.  It  was  Estelle  Linton,  smartly 
attired  for  the  day's  expedition,  and  exhibiting  all 
the  compensating  charms  with  which  she  sought  to 
atone  for  her  lack  of  brains  and  morals.  With  a 
glance  of  sophisticated  comprehension  she  took  in 
the  disordered  room,  the  perturbed  young  people, 
the  unfinished  breakfast-tray;  then  she  burst  into 
a  gay  little  laugh. 

"Ten  thousand  pardons!"  she  cried,  backing 
away  from  the  door  in  assumed  confusion.  "I 
should  n't  have  called  so  early.  I  just  ran  in  to 
bring  you  Town  Topics.  The  most  killing  article 
about  you,  dear.  By-by ;  I  '11  see  you  later !"  And, 
kissing  her  hand  to  Eleanor,  she  flitted  down  the 
hall. 

"Shall  I  go  or  will  you?"  Eleanor  demanded  of 
Harold. 

She  was  standing  in  the  open  door,  all  the  color 


QUIN  377 

fled  from  her  face  and  her  eyes  blazing  with  anger. 
"I  '11  go,  of  course,"  said  Harold.     "Only,  you 
must  not  mind  Estelle.     Everybody  know's  she's 
a  fool " 

The  door  was  slammed  in  his  face  and  locked  be- 
fore he  finished  the  sentence. 

For  a  moment  Eleanor  stood  immovable;  then 
her  eye  fell  on  the  paper  that  Estelle  Linton  had 
thrust  into  her  hand4  and  she  saw  her  stage  name 
on  the  title-page. 

Pretty  little  romance  back  of  the  production  of  "Phantom 
Love"  [she  read].  It  is  rumored  that  a  wealthy  young 
Chicago  playwright,  having  met  with  family  opposition  in 
winning  a  young  Southern  belle,  took  advantage  of  her 
histrionic  ambition,  and  persuaded  her  to  play  a  role  in 
his  new  play,  which  he  wrote  especially  for  her.  Those 
who  saw  the  opening  performance  of  "Phantom  Love"  at 
Atlantic  City  Wednesday  night  will  have  little  trouble  in 
recognizing  the  heroine  of  the  story.  Miss  Nell  Martel 
is  one  of  the  daintiest  bits  of  femininity  that  have  flitted 
behind  the  footlights  in  many  moons.  She  has  youth  and 
beauty  and  a  certain  elusive  charm.  But  the  fact  remains 
that  she  can  not  act.  For  the  continued  success  of  the 
really  brilliant  play,  let  us  hope  that  the  young  lady's  lover 
may  soon  become  her  husband,  and  that,  having  won  his 
prize,  he  will  substitute  a  professional  for  the  charming 
young  amateur  who  is  in  no  way  up  to  the  rest  of  the 
really  excellent  cast. 

Eleanor  crushed  the  paper  in  her  hand,  flung 
herself  across  the  bed,  and  buried  her  hot  face  in 
the  pillow.  All  her  life  she  had  walked  unafraid 
and  inviolate,  protected  by  her  social  position,  the 
over-zealous  solicitude  of  the  family,  and  her  own 
purity.  She  had  flown  out  of  the  family  nest,  con- 


378  QUIN 

fident  of  her  power  to  take  care  of  herself,  to  breast 
any  storm.  And  here,  at  the  beginning  of  her  flight, 
she  found  herself  in  utter  confusion  of  body  and 
spirit,  powerless  to  protect  herself  against  such 
conduct  as  Harold's,  such  printed  gossip  as  lay  be- 
fore her,  or  such  unspeakable  insinuations  as  Estelle 
Linton's. 

When  Papa  Claude  returned,  her  first  impulse 
was  to  pour  out  her  troubles  to  him;  but  second 
thought  restrained  her.  He  was  too  much  a  part 
of  that  casual,  irresponsible  world  to  take  anything 
it  did  or  said  seriously.  She  called  through  the 
door  to  him  that  she  had  gone  to  bed  and  was 
going  to  stay  there. 

But  she  did  not  stay  there.  She  got  up  and  knelt 
by  the  open  window,  looking  across  the  seething 
mass  of  humanity  on  the  boardwalk  below  to  the 
calm  stretches  of  blue  sea  beyond.  For  the  first 
time,  she  faced  her  problem  fairly  and  squarely.  Up 
to  now  she  had  been  trying  to  compromise,  to  be 
broad  and  tolerant  and  cosmopolitan.  But  she  had 
to  admit  that  the  new  life  satisfied  her  no  more 
than  the  old  had.  One  was  too  circumscribed,  the 
other  too  free.  If  it  was  true  that  she  had  no  talent 
and  was  simply  tolerated  in  the  company  because  of 
Harold  Phipps,  she  must  know  it  at  once.  To  be 
drawing  a  salary  that  she  did  not  earn,  and  accept- 
ing favors  for  which  a  definite  reward  would  be 
expected,  was  utterly  intolerable  to  her. 


QUIN  379 

A  wild  clesire  seized  her  to  go  back  to  New  York 
and  seek  another  engagement.  In  spite  of  what  that 
odious  article  said,  she  believed  that  she  could  suc- 
ceed on  the  stage.  Papa  Claude  believed  in  her; 
the  Kendall  School  people  were  enthusiastic  about 
her  work;  they;  would  help  her  to  make  another 
Start 

But  'did  she  Honestly  want  to  make  another  start? 
A  conscience  that  had  overslept  itself  began  to  stir 
and  waken.  After  all,  what  di'd  the  plaudits  of  hun- 
dreds of  unknown  people  count  for,  when  the  ap- 
proval and  affection  of  those  nearest  and  dearest 
was  withdrawn?  What  would  any  success  count 
for  against  the  disgust  she  felt  for  herself. 

'A  wave  of  terrific  homesickness  swept  over  Her. 
But  what  was  it  she  wanted,  she  asked  herself,  in 
place  of  this  gay  kaleidoscope  of  light  and  color  and 
ceaseless  confusion?  Not  the  stagnation  of  the 
Bartlett  household,  certainly  not  the  slipshod  poverty 
of  the  Martels.  She  searched  her  heart  for  the 
answer. 

fAnd  as  she  knelt  there  with  her  head  on  tfie 
•window-sill,  looking  miserably  out  to  sea,  a  strange 
thing  happened  to  her.  In  a  moment  of  swift,  sure 
vision  she  saw  Quinby  Graham's  homely,  whimsical 
face,  she  felt  his  strong  arms  around  her,  and  into 
her  soul  came  a  deep,  still  feelipg  of  unutterable 
content. 


380  QUIN 

"I  am  coming,  Quin !"  she  whispered,  with  a  little 
catch  in  her  voice. 

Then  it  was  that  Destiny  played  her  second  trump 
for  Quin.  It  was  in  the  form  of  a  telegram  that  a 
bell-boy  brought  up  from  the  office,  and  it  announced 
that  Madam  Bartlett  was  not  expected  to  live 
through  the  day. 

Within  twenty-four  hours  Eleanor  was  in  Kelt* 
tucky. 

"Is  she  living?"  she  demanded  of  Hannah,  who 
answered  her  ring  at  her  grandmother's  door. 

"I  don't  know,  honey,"  whispered  Hannah,  ashy 
with  fright.  "They  's  operatin'  now.  We  thought 
she  was  going  to  die  all  day  yesterday,  but  she 
never  give  in  to  be  operated  on  till  Mr.  Quin  come." 
i  "Where  are  Aunt  Isobel  and  Aunt  Enid?" 

"They's  all  in  the  library.  Mr.  Ranny's  there, 
too.  Ain't  nobody  upstairs  with  her  but  jest  the 
doctors  an'  the  nurse  an'  Mr.  Quin." 

Eleanor  crept  upstairs  and  sat  down  on  the  top 
step,  outside  that  door  before  which  she  had  halted 
in  dread  so  many  times  before.  Remorse  and  sym- 
pathy and  acute  apprehension  struggled  for  mastery. 
All  the  old  antagonism  for  her  grandmother  was 
swept  away  in  the  dread  prospect  of  losing  her.  It 
was  impossible  to  think  of  the  family  existing 
without  her.  She  held  it  up,  kept  it  together,  main- 
tained the  proud  old  Bartlett  tradition. 

There  was  a  sound   behind  the  closed  doors. 


QUIN  381 

Eleanor  strained  her  ears  to  listen.     It  was  some- 
one coughing,  at  first  gently,  then  violently.     The 
next  moment  the  door  opened  and  a  wild-eyed,  un- 
shaven figure  staggered  into  the  hall. 
"Damn  that  ether !"  some  one  muttered. 
And  then,  before  Eleanor  could  get  to  her  feet, 
Quinby  Graham  came  unsteadily  toward  her,  stum- 
bled twice,  then  pitched  forward  on  his  face,  striking 
his  head  on  the  banister  as  he  fell* 


CHAPTER  33 

TWO  weeks  later,  when  Quin  struggled  back  to 
consciousness,  he  labored  under  the  delusion 
that  he  was  still  in  the  army  and  back  in  the  camp 
hospital.  Eleanor,  who  scarcely  left  his  bedside,  was 
once  more  Miss  Bartlett,  the  ward  visitor,  and  he 
was  Patient  Number  7.  He  tried  to  explain  to  all 
those  dim  figures  moving  about  the  darkened  room 
that  he  was  making  her  a  bead  chain,  and  unless  they 
got  him  more  beads  he  could  not  finish  it  in  time. 
When  they  reassured  him  and  tried  to  get  him  to 
take  food,  he  invariably  wanted  to  know  if  Miss 
Bartlett  had  brought  it,  and  which  was  her  day  to 
tome  again.  Then  the  doctor  and  the  nurse  would 
argue  with  him,  and  try  to  make  him  remember 
things  he  was  sure  had  never  happened,  and  his 
mental  distress  would  become  acute.  At  such  times 
somebody,  who  of  course  could  not  be  Miss  Bartlett, 
but  who  had  her  voice  and  eyes,  would  take  his 
hand  and  tell  him  to  go  to  sleep,  then  the  tangles 
would  all  come  straight. 

One  day  he  was  startled  out  of  a  stupor  by  the 
sound  of  a  querulous  old  voice  saying: 

"I  guess  if  he  could  get  out  of  bed  to  come 
382 


QUIN  383 

across  the  city  to  me,  I  can  come  across  the  hall  to 
him.  Wheel  me  closer!" 

Quin  was  drifting  off  again,  when  a  hand  gripped 
his  wrist. 

"Open  your  eyes,  boy!  Look  at  me.  Do  you 
know  who  this  is?" 

He  lifted  his  heavy  lids,  and  wondered  dully  what 
Madam  was  doing  at  the  camp  hospital. 

"Put  the  blinds  up,"  she  commanded  to  some  one 
back  of  her.  "Let  him  see  the  wall-paper,  the  furni- 
ture. Move  that  fool  screen  away." 

For  the  first  time,  Quin  brought  his  confused  at- 
tention to  bear  on  his  surroundings,  and  even 
glanced  at  the  space  over  the  mantel  to  see  if  a  cer- 
tain picture  was  at  its  old  place, 

"You  are  in  my  house,"  said  Madam,  with  a 
finality  that  was  not  to  be  disputed.  "Do  you  re- 
member the  first  time  you  came  here?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Yes,  you  <do.  I  fell  down  the  steps  and  broke 
my  leg,  and  you  came  in  off  the  street  to  tie  me  up 
with  an  umbrella  and  the  best  table  napkins.  What 
are  you  smiling  about?" 

"Smelling  salts,"  Quin  murmured,  as  if  to  him- 
self. 

"You  don't  need  any  smelling  salts!"  cried 
Madam,  missing  his  allusion.  "All  you  need  is  to 
rouse  yourself  and  put  your  mind  on  what  I  am 
saying.  Do  you  remember  living  in  this  house?" 


'384  QUIN 

He  could  not  truthfully  say  that  he  'did,  though 
familiar  objects  and  sounds  seemed  to  be  all  around 
him. 

"Well,  I'll  make  you,"  said  Madam,  nothing 
daunted.  "You  stayed  in  this  very  room  for  three 
months  to  keep  the  burglars  from  stealing  Isobel 
and  Enid,  and  every  night  you  walked  me  up  and 
down  the  hall  on  my  crutches.'' 

She  paused  and  looked  at  him  expectantly;  but 
things  were  still  a  blur  to  him, 

"You  surely  remember  the  Easter  party?"  she 
persisted.  "If  you  can  forget  the  way  your  shirt 
kept  popping  open  that  night,  and  the  way  your  jaw 
swelled  up,  it 's  more  than  I  can !" 

Quin  winced.  Even  concussion  of  the  brain  had 
'failed  to  deaden  the  memory  of  that  awful  night. 

"I  sort  of  remember,"  he  admitted, 

"Good!  That  will  do  for  to-day.  As  for  the 
rest,  I  '11  tell  you  what  happened.  You  came  here 
one  night  two  weeks  ago,  when  everybody  had  me 
dead  and  buried,  and  you  deviled  me  into  having  an 
operation  that  saved  my  life.  You  stood  right  by 
me  while  they  did  it  Then  you  collapsed  and 
knocked  your  head  on  the  banister,  and,  as  if  that 
wasn't  enough,  developed  pneumonia  on  top  of  it. 
Now  all  you  Ve  got  to  think  about  is  getting  well.'* 

"But — but — Miss  Eleanor?"  Quin  queried 
weakly,  fearing  that  the  blessed  presence  that  had 
hovered  over  him  was  but  a  figment  of  his  dreams. 


QUIN  385 

"She  came  home  to  help  bury  me,"  said  Madam. 
"Failing  to  get  the  job,  she  took  to  nursing  you. 
Now  stop  talking  and  go  to  sleep.  If  I  hear  any 
more  of  this  stuff  and  nonsense  about  your  being  in 
a  hospital  and  making  bead  chains,  I  '11  forbid 
Eleanor  crossing  the  threshold ;  do  you  hear  ?" 

From  that  time  on  Quin's  convalescence  was 
rapid — almost  too  rapid,  in  fact,  for  his  peace  of 
mind.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  been  so  watched 
over  and  so  tenderly  cared  for.  Mr.  Ranny  kept 
him  supplied  with  fresh  eggs  and  cream  from 
Valley  Mead;  Mr.  Chester  and  Miss  Enid  deluged 
him  with  magazines  and  flowers;  Miss  Isobel  gave 
him  his  medicine  and  fixed  his  tray  herself ;  Madam 
chaperoned  his  thoughts  and  allowed  no  intruding 
fancies  or  vagaries. 

But  all  these  attentions  were  as  nothing  to  him, 
compared  with  the  miracle  of  Eleanor's  presence. 
Just  why  she  was  remaining  at  home  he  dared  not 
ask,  for  fear  he  should  be  told  the  date  of  her 
departure.  The  fact  that  she  flitted  in  and  out  of 
his  room,  flirting  with  the  doctor,  teasing  the  aunt- 
ies, assuming  a  divine  proprietorship  over  him,  was 
heaven  enough  in  itself. 

Sometimes,  when  they  were  alone  and  she  thought 
he  was  asleep  he  would  see  the  dancing,  restless 
light  die  out  of  her  eyes,  and  a  beautiful  exalted 
look  come  into  them  as  if  she  were  listening  to  the 
music  of  the  spheres. 


386  QUIN 

He  attributed  this  to  the  fact  that  she  was  happy 
in  being  once  more  reconciled  to  the  family.  Even 
she  and  Madam  seemed  to  be  on  terms  of  the  closest 
intimacy,  and  he  spent  hours  in  trying  to  understand 
what  had  effected  the  change. 

As  he  grew  stronger  and  was  allowed  to  sit  up 
in  bed,  he  realized,  with  a  shock,  what  a  fool's 
paradise  he  was  living  in.  A  few  more  days  and  he 
must  go  back  to  that  dark,  damp  room  in  Chestnut 
Street.  He  must  find  work — and  work,  however 
menial,  for  which  he  had  the  strength.  Eleanor 
would  return  to  New  York,  and  he  would  probably 
never  see  her  again.  During  his  illness  she  had 
been  heavenly  kind  to  him,  but  that  was  no  reason 
for  thinking  she  had  changed  her  mind.  She  had 
given  him  his  final  answer  there  in  New  York,  and 
he  was  grimly  determined  never  to  open  the  sub- 
ject again. 

But  one  day,  when  they  were  alone  together,  his 
resolution  sustained  a  compound  fracture.  Eleanor 
was  reading  aloud  to  him,  and  in  the  midst  of  a 
sentence  she  put  down  the  book  and  looked  at  him 
queerly. 

"Quin,"  she  said,  "did  you  know  I  am  not  going 
back?" 

"Why  not ?    Did  the  play  fail?" 

"No.  It 's  a  big  success.  Papa  Claude  will  prob- 
ably make  a  small  fortune  out  of  it." 

"But  you?    What's  the  trouble?" 


QUIN  387 

"I  Ve  had  enough.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to 
leave  the  company  even  before  I  was  sent  for." 

Quin's  eyes  searched  her  face,  but  for  once  he) 
held  his  tongue. 

She  was  evidently  finding  it  hard  to  continue. 
She  twisted  the  fringe  of  the  counterpane  in  hen 
slender,  white  fingers,  and  she  did  not  look  at  him.; 

"It  all  turned  out  as  you  said  it  would,"  she  ad- 
mitted at  last.  "I — I  simply  could  n't  stand  Harold 
Phipps." 

Quin's  heart  performed  an  athletic  feat.  It  leaped 
into  his  throat  and  remained  there. 

"But  you  11  be  joining  some  other  company,  I 
suppose?"  He  tried  to  make  his  voice  formal  and 
detached. 

"That  depends,"  she  said;  and  she  looked  at  him 
again  in  that  queer,  tremulous,  mysterious  way  that 
he  did  not  in  the  least  understand. 

Her  small  hands  were  fluttering  so  close  to  his 
that  he  could  have  captured  them  both  in  one  big 
palm;  but  he  heroically  refrained.  He  kept  saying 
over  and  over  to  himself  that  it  was  just  Miss, 
Nell's  way  of  being  good  to  a  fellow,  and  that,  what- 
ever happened,  he  must  not  make  her  unhappy  arid 
sorry — he  must  not  lose  his  head. 

"Quin," — her  voice  dropped  so  low  he  could 
scarcely  hear  it, — "have  you  ever  forgiven  me  for 
the  way  I  behaved  in  New  York?" 

"Sure!" 


388  QUIN 

He  was  trembling  now,  and  he  wondered  how 
much  longer  he  could  hold  out. 

"Do  you — do  you — still  feel  about  me  the  way 
you — you  did — that  night  on  the  bus?"  she  whis- 
pered. 

Quin  looked  at  her  as  a  Christian  martyr  might 
have  looked  at  his  persecutor. 

"I  think  about  you  the  way  I  've  always  thought 
about  you,"  he  said  hopelessly — "the  way  I  shall 
go  on  thinking  about  you  as  long  as  I  live." 

"Well,"  said  Eleanor,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "I 
guess  that  settles  it" ;  and,  to  his  unspeakable  amaze- 
ment, she  laid  her  head  on  his  pillow  and  her  cheek 
on  his. 

When  he  recovered  from  his  shock  of  subliminal 
ecstasy,  his  first  thought  was  of  the  trouble  he  was 
storing  up  for  Eleanor.  Even  his  rapture  was 
dimmed  by  the  prospect  of  involving  her  in  another 
love  affair  that  could  only  meet  with  bitter  opposi- 
tion of  her  family. 

"We  must  keep  it  dark  for  the  present,"  he  urged, 
holding  her  close  as  if  he  feared  she  would  slip 
away.  "Maybe,  when  I  am  well,  and  have  a  good 
position,  and  all,  they  won't  take  it  so  hard." 

Eleanor  refused  to  listen  to  any  such  counsel 
She  wanted  to  announce  their  engagement  at  once, 
and  be  married  at  the  earliest  possible  date.  He 
needed  her  to  take  care  of  him,  she  declared;  and  be- 
sides, they  could  make  a  start  on  the  money  that 


QUIN  389 

would  soon  be  due  her  from  her  father's  estate.  To 
this  proposition  Quin  would  not  listen,  and  they  had 
a  spirited  quarrel  and  reached  no  agreement. 

Eleanor  had  fallen  seriously  in  love  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  and  it  was  a  sudden  and  overwhelm- 
ing experience.  During  those  anxious  days  of 
Quin's  illness,  when  his  life  had  hung  in  the  balance, 
she  had  time  to  realize  what  he  meant  to  her.  Now 
that  he  needed  skilful  nursing  and  constant  care  to 
assure  his  recovery,  she  was  determined  not  to  be 
separated  from  him. 

In  spite  of  his  protests,  she  joyfully  announced 
their  engagement  to  Uncle  Ranny  and  the  aunties  at 
dinner,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that  the  family 
tree,  instead  of  being  rocked  to  its  foundation,  was 
merely  pleasantly  stirred  in  its  branches. 

"You  see,  we  could  not  help  suspecting  it,"  Miss 
Isobel  twittered  excitedly  to  Quin,  when  she  brought 
him  his  tray.  "You  talked  about  her  incessantly 
in  your  delirium,  and  the  dear  child  was  almost  be- 
side herself  the  night  we  thought  you  might  not  re- 
cover. I  told  sister  then  that  if  you  got  well " 

s<But  what  about  Madam?"  Quin  interrupted 
anxiously.  "What  will  she  think  of  Miss  Nell's  be- 
ing engaged  to  a  fellow  like  me,  with  no  money  or 
position,  or  any  prospects  of  being  able  to  marry 
for  God  knows  how  long?" 

Miss  Isobel  looked  grave.  "Nellie  is  breaking 
.the  news  to  her  now,"  she  said  primly.  "I  am 


390  QUIN 

afraid  she  is  going  to  find  it  very  hard.  But,  as 
sister  says,  there  are  times  when  one  has  to  follow 
one's  own  judgments.  When  mother  sees  that  we 
all  stand  together  about  this " 

She  waved  her  hand  with  a  little  air  of  finality. 
It  was  the  second  time  in  her  life  that  she  had  made 
even  a  gesture  toward  freedom. 

The  interview  between  Eleanor  and  her  grand- 
mother lasted  for  more  than  an  hour,  and  nobody 
knew  the  outcome  of  it  until  the  next  morning,  when 
a  family  council  was  called  in  Quin's  room.  Madam 
was  wheeled  in  in  state,  resplendent  in  purple  and 
gold,  with  her  hair  elaborately  dressed,  as  usual. 

To  everybody's  amazement,  she  opened  the  con- 
ference by  abruptly  announcing  that  she  had  de- 
cided that  Eleanor  and  Qttin  should  be  married  at 
(Mice. 

"She 's  at  loose  ends,  and  he 's  at  loose  ends.  The 
sooner  they  get  tied  up,  the  better,"  was  the  way 
she  put  it. 

"But  hold  on !"  cried  Quin,  sitting  up  in  bed.  "I 
can't  do  that,  you  know;  I  Ve  got  to  get  on  my  feet 
first." 

"How  are  you  going  to  get  on  your  feet  until 
you  get  your  strength  back?"  demanded  Madam. 
"You  look  like  going  to  work,  don't  you?" 

"Well,  the  doctor  has  promised  me  I  can  go  out 
on  Saturday.  I  ought  to  be  able  to  go  to  work  in 
a  couple  of  weeks." 


QUIN  391 

"Couple  of  fiddle-sticks !  Dr.  Rawlins  told  me  it 
would  be  two  months  before  you  would  be  fit  for 
work,  and  even  then  you  would  have  to  be  care- 
ful." 

"Well,  you  don't  think  I  am  going  to  let  Miss 
Nell  in  on  a  deal  like  that,  do  you?"  Quin's  voice 
broke  and  he  gripped  Eleanor's  hand  until  she 
winced. 

"But,  Quin,  I  want  it  to  be  now,"  Eleanor  begged. 
"Grandmother  and  I  have  gone  over  it  from  every 
standpoint,  and  she  's  come  to  see  it  as  I  do.  You 
need  me,  and  I  need  you.  Why  can't  you  be  sensi- 
ble and  see  it  as  we  do?" 

How  Quin  ever  withstood  those  pleading  tones 
and  beseeching  eyes,  it  is  impossible  to  say.  But 
withstand  them  he  did,  announcing  stubbornly  that 
it  was  bad  enough  for  a  girl  to  marry  a  chap  with 
broken  bellows ;  but  for  her  to  marry  one  she  would 
not  only  have  to  nurse,  but  support  as  well,  was  not 
to  be  thought  of.  There  was  but  one  thing  to  do, 
and  that  was  to  wait. 

Then  it  was  that  Madam,  who  had  been  reason- 
ably patient  up  till  now,  lost  her  temper  and  de- 
livered an  ultimatum. 

"You  '11  marry  her  now  or  not  at  all,"  slie 
thundered.  "I  am  sick  and  tired  of  the  way  you 
try  to  run  this  family,  Quinby  Graham !  For  more 
than  a  year  now  you  have  carried  things  with  a 
high  hand.  You  got  Ranny  out  of  the  factory  and 


392  QUIN 

on  a  farm.  You  married  Enid  to  Francis  Chester, 
and  sent  them  to  California.  You  made  me  let 
Eleanor  go  to  New  York,  and  came  very  near  land- 
ing her  on  the  stage  for  good.  And  now,  when  I 
have  been  persuaded  into  letting  the  child  marry  you, 
you  are  not  satisfied,  but  insist  on  doing  it  at  your 
own  time  and  in  your  own  way!" 

"You  forgot  one  thing,  granny,"  suggested 
Eleanor  'demurely.  "He  made  you  have  the  opera- 
tion." 

Madam  was  not  to  be  diverted.  She  glared  at 
Quin  like  an  angry  old  lioness. 

"Are  you  going  to  do  as  I  advise  ?"  she  demanded. 

"No;  not  until  I  get  a  job."  Quin's  jaw  was  set 
as  firmly  as  hers,  arid  their  eyes  measured  each 
other's  with  equal  determination. 

"Well,  then  I  '11  give  you  a  job,"  she  announced 
with  sudden  decision.  "I  '11  send  you  to  China." 

"To  China?" 

"Yes.  Bartlett  &  Bangs  has  just  opened  a  brancK 
house  in  Shanghai.  They  are  looking  for  a  man  to 
take  charge  of  it.  Your  knowledge  of  the  language 
would  make  up  for  your  lack  of  experience.  Be- 
sides, the  sea  voyage  will  do  you  good." 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  cried  Quinn  eagerly. 
"Would  Mr.  Bangs  agree?" 

"Geoffrey  Bangs  would  take  you  back  at  the  fac- 
tory to-morrow.  But  I  don't  want  you  there,  under 
him.  I  want  to  turn  you  loose  on  China.  It's  the 


QUIN  393 

only  place  I  know  that 's  big  enough  to  exhaust  your 
energies.  You  will  probably  have  the  entire  coun- 
try plowing  up  its  ancestors  before  spring." 

"And  what  about  you  ?"  said  Quin,  turning  eagerly 
to  Eleanor.  "Would  you  go  with  me?" 

'Will  I  ?"  said  Eleanor,  her  eyes  dancing. 

That  night,  when  Miss  Isobel  was  tucking 
Madam  into  bed,  she  made  bold  to  ask  her  how  she 
happened  to  give  her  consent  to  the  wedding. 

"Isobel,"  said  Madam,  cocking  a  wise  old  eye,  "it 
might  as  well  be  now  as  later.     When  a  man  like 
Quinby  Graham  makes  up  his  mind  to  marry  a 
certain  girl,  the  devil  himself  can't  stop  him!" 
***  ***,  *  *  * 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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